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Ht tbc 

)VIcrc)> of Obcnue 


A NOVEL 


By AUGUSTA EVANS WILSON 

Author of **A Speckled Bird,” “Infelice,” Vashd,” 
“Beulah,” St. Elmo,” etc. 



Fate steals along with silent tread. 

Found oftenest in what least we dread ; 
Frowns in the storm with angry brow. 

But in the sunshine strikes the blow* 

COWPBR. 


A. L. BURT COMPANY, Publishers 
NEW YORK 



TZ3 

'^IdS 

' i 


\o 


Copyright, 1887 
By G. W. DILLINGHAM 

(ylU rights reserved) 

At the Mercy of Tiberius 


o li. 


IN MEMORY OF 

flDl2 fiDotber, 

WHO HAS ENTERED INTO REST. 



CONTENTS 






CUAPTEE 

I. 

II, 

III. 

IV, 
■ V 

VI, 

VII, 

VIII 

IX, 

X 

XI, 

XII, 

XIII, 

XIV. 
XV, 

XVI. 

XVII. 

XVIII. 

XIX. 

XX 

XXI. 

XXII. 

XXIII. 

XXIV. 

XXV 

XXVI. 

XXVII. 

XXVIII, 

XXIX, 

XXX. 

XXXI. 

XXXII 

XXXIII, 

XXXIV. 

XXXV. 


PAGE 

9 

i 8 

32 


78 

98 

II3 

130 

143 

154 

167 

I8I 

192 

207 

221 

236 

254 

277 

299 

310 

325 

339 

358 

370 

390 

406 

420 

437 

450 

466 

478 

492 

508 

524 



At the Mercy of Tiberius. 


CHAPTER I. 

“Yau are obstinate and ungrateful. You would rather 
see me suffer and die, than bend your stubborn pride in the 
effort to obtain relief for me. You will not try to save me.” 

The thin, hysterically unsteady voice ended in a sob, and 
the frail wasted form of the speaker leaned forward, as if 
the issue of life or death hung upon an answer. 

The tower clock of a neighboring church began to strike 
the hour of noon, and not until the echo of the last stroke 
had died away, was there a reply to the appeal. 

“Mother, try to be just to me. My pride is for you, not 
for myself. I shrink from seeing my mother crawl to the 
feet of a man, who has disowned and spurned her; I cannot 
consent that she should humbly beg for rights, so unnat- 
urally withheld. Every instinct of my nature revolts from 
the step you require of me, and I feel as if you held a hot 
iron in your hand, waiting to brand me.” 

“Your proud sensitiveness runs in a strange groove, and 
it seems you would prefer to see me a pauper in a Hospital, 
rather than go to your grandfather and ask for help. Beryl, 
time presses, and if I die for want of aid, you will be 
responsible; when it is too late, you will reproach yourself. 
If I only knew where and how to reach my dear boy, I 
should not importune you. Bertie would not refuse obedi- 
ence to my wishes.” 

The silence which followed was so prolonged that a mouse 

9 


10 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


crept from its covert in some corner of the comfortless 
garret room, and nibbled at the fragments of bread scattered 
on the table. 

Beryl stood at the dormer window, holding aside the 
faded blue cotton curtain, and the mid-day glare falling 
upon her, showed every curve of her tall full form; every 
line in the calm, pale Sibylline face. The large steel gray 
eyes were shaded by drooping lids, heavily fringed with 
black lashes, but when raised in a steady gaze the pupils 
appeared abnormally dilated; and the delicately traced black 
brows that overarched them, contrasted conspicuously with 
the wealth of deep auburn hair darkened by mahogany 
tints, which rolled back in shining waves from her blue 
veined temples. While moulding the figure and features 
upon a scale almost heroic, nature had jealously guarded 
the symmetry of her work, and in addition to the perfect 
proportion of the statuesque outlines, had bestowed upon 
the firm white flesh a gleaming smoothness, suggestive of 
fine grained marble highly polished. Majesty of mien im- 
plies much, which the comparatively short period of eighteen 
years rarely confers, yet majestic most properly describes 
this girl, whose archetype Veleda read runic mvths to the 
Bructeri in the twilight of history. 

Beryl crossed the room, and with her hands folded tightly 
together, came to the low bed, on which lay the wreck of 
a once beautiful woman, and stood for a moment silent and 
pre-occupied. With a sudden gesture of surrender, she 
stooped her noble head, as if assuming a yoke, and drew 
one long deep breath. Did some prophetic intuition show 
her at that instant the Phicean Hill and its dread tenant, 
which sooner or later we must all confront? 

“Dear mother, I submit. Obedience to your commands 
certainly ought not to lead me astray; yet I feel that I 
stand at the cross-roads, longing to turn and flee from the 
way whither your finger points. I have no hope of accom- 
plishing any good, and nothing but humiliation can result 
from the experiment; but I will go. Sometimes I believCv 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


II 


that fate maliciously hunts up the things we most bitterly 
abhor, and one by one sets them down before us — labelled 
Duty. When do you wish me to start?’* 

“To-night, at nine o’clock. In the letter which you will 
take to father, I have told him our destitution, and that the 
money spent for your railway ticket has been obtained by 
the sacrifice of the diamonds and pearls, that were set 
around my mother’s picture; that cameo, which he had cut 
in Rome and framed in Paris. Beryl so much depends on 
the impression you make upon him, that you must guard 
your manner against haughtiness. Try to be patient, my 
daughter, and if he should seem harsh, do not resent his 
words. He is old now, and proud and bitter, but he once 
had a tender love for me. I was his idol, and when my 
child pleads, he will relent.” 

Mrs. Brentano laid her thin hot fingers on her daughter’s 
hands, drawing her down to the edge of the bed ; and Beryl 
saw she was quivering with nervous excitement. 

“Compose yourself, mother, or you will be so ill that I 
cannot leave you. Dr. Grantlin impressed upon us, the 
necessity of keeping your nervous system quiet. Take your 
medicine now, and try to sleep until I come back from 
Stephen & Endicott’s.” 

“Do not go to-day.” 

“I must. Those porcelain types were promised for a 
certain day, and they should be packed in time for the 
afternoon express, going to Boston.” 

“Beryl.” 

“Well, mother?” 

“Come nearer to me. Give me your hand. My heart is 
so oppressed by dread, that I want you to promise me 
something, which I fancy will lighten my burden. Life is 
very uncertain, and if I should die, what would become of 
my Bertie? Oh, my boy! my darling, my first born! He 
is so impulsive, so headstrong; and no one but his mother 
could ever excuse or forgive his waywardness. Although 
younger, you are in some respects, the strongest; and I 


12 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


want your promise that you wHl always be patient and tender 
with him, and that you will shield him from evil, as I have 
tried to do. His conscience of course, is not sensitive like 
yours — ^because you know, a boy’s moral nature is totally 
different from a girl’s; and like most of his sex, Bertie has 
no religious instincts bending him always in the right direc- 
tion. Women generally have to supply conscientious scru- 
ples for men, and you can take care of your brother, if you 
will. You are unusually brave and strong. Beryl, and 
when I am gone, you must stand between him and trouble. 
My good little girl, will you?” 

The large luminous eyes that rested upon the flushed face 
of the invalid, filled with a mist of yearning compassionate 
tenderness, and taking her mother’s hands. Beryl laid the 
palms together, then stooping nearer, kissed her softly. 

“I think I have never lacked love for Bertie, though I 
may not always have given expression to my feelings. If 
at times I have deplored his reckless waywardness, and 
expostulated with him, genuine affection prompted me; but 
I promise you now, that I will do all a sister possibly can 
for a brother. Trust me, mother; and rest in the assurance 
that his welfare shall be more to me than my own; that 
should the necessity arise, I will stand between him and 
trouble. Banish all depressing forebodings. When you are 
strong and well, and when I paint my great picture, we will 
buy a pretty cottage among the lilacs and roses, where birds 
sing all day long, where cattle pasture in clover nooks; 
and then Bertie, your darling, shall never leave you again.” 

“I do trust you, for your promise means more than oath 
and vows from other people, and if occasion demand, I know 
you will guard my Bertie, my high-strung, passionate, beau- 
tiful boy! Your pretty cottage? Ah, child! when shall we 
dwell in Spain?” 

"‘Some day, some day; only be hopeful, and let me find 
you better when I return. Sleep, and dream of our pretty 
cottage. I must hurry away with my pictures, for this is 
pay day.” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


13 


Tying the strings of her hat under one ear, and covering 
her face with a blue veil, Beryl took a pasteboard box from 
a table, on which lay brushes and paints, and leaving the 
door a-jar, went down the narrow stairs. 

At the window of a small hall on the next floor, a woman 
sat before her sewing-machine, bending so close to her work 
that she did not see the tall form, which paused before her, 
until a hand was laid on the s-teel plate. 

“Mrs. Emmet, will you please be so good as to go up 
after a while, and see if mother needs anything?” 

“Certainly, Miss, if I am here, but I have some sewing to 
carry home this afternoon.” 

“I shall not be absent more than two hours. To-night 
I am going South, to attend to some business; and mother 
tells me you have promised to wait upon her, and allow 
your daughter Maggie to sleep on a pallet by her bed, while 
I am gone. I cannot tell you how grateful I shall be for 
any kindness you may show her, and I wish you would send 
the baby often to her room, as he is so sweet and cunning, 
and his merry ways amuse her.” 

“Yes, I will do all I can. We poor folks who have none 
of this world’s goods, ought to be rich at least in sympathy 
and pity for each other’s suffering, for it is about all we 
have to share. Don’t you worry and fret, for I will see 
your ma has what she needs. I was mothered by the best 
woman God ever made, and since she died, every sick 
mother I see has a sort of claim on my heart.” 

Pausing an instant to adjust the tucker of her machine, 
Mrs. Emmet looked up, and involuntarily the women shook 
hands, as if sealing a compact. 

It was a long walk to the building whither Beryl directed 
her steps, and as she passed through the rear entrance of 
a large and fashionable photograph establishment, she was 
surprised to find that it was half-past two o’clock. 

The Superintendent of the department, from whom she 
received her work, was a man of middle-age, of rather 


14 


^AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


stern and forbidding aspect ; and as she approached his 
desk, he pointed to the clock on the mantel-piece. 

“Barely time to submit those types for inspection, and 
have them packed for the express going East. They are 
birthday gifts, and birthdays have an awkward habit of 
arriving rigidly on time.’^ 

He unrolled the tissue paper, and with a magnifying 
glass, carefully examined the pictures; then took from an 
envelope in the box, two short pieces of hair, which he 
compared with the painted heads before him. 

“Beautifully done. The lace on that child’s dress would 
bear even a stronger lens than my glass. Here Patterson, 
take this box, and letter to Mr. Endicott, and if satisfactory, 
carry them to the packing counter. Shipping address is 
in the letter. Hurry up, my lad. Sit down, Miss Bren- 
tano.” 

“Thank you, I am not tired. Mr. Mansfield, have you 
any good news for me?” 

“You mean those etchings; or the designs for the Christ- 
mas cards? Have not heard a word, pro or con. Guess no 
news is good news; for I notice Rejected’ work generally 
travels fast, to roost at home.” 

“I thought the awards were made last week, and that 
to-day you could tell me the result.” 

“The awards have been made, I presume, but who owns 
the lucky cards is the secret that has not yet transpired. 
You young people have no respect for red tape, and method- 
ical business routine. You want to clap spurs on fate, and 
make her lower her own last record? ‘Bide awee. Bide 
awee’.” 

“Winning this prize means so much to me, that I confess 
I find it very hard to be patient. Success would save me 
from a painful and expensive journey, upon which I must 
start to-night; and therefore I hoped so earnestly that I 
might receive good tidings to-day. I am obliged to go 
South on an errand, which will necessitate an absence of 
several days, and if you should have any news for me, keep 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


15 


it until I call again. If unfavorable it would depress my 
mother, and therefore I prefer you should not write, as of 
course she will open any letters addressed to me. Please 
save all the work you can for me, and I will come here as 
soon as I get back home.” 

"‘Very well. Any message, Patterson?” 

“Mr. Endicott said, ‘All right ; first-rate and ordered 
them shipped.” 

“Here is your money. Miss Brentano. Better call as 
early as you can, as I guess there will be a lot of photo- 
graphs ready in a few days. Good afternoon.” 

“Thank you. Good-bye, sir.” 

From the handful of small change, she selected some 
pennies which she slipped inside of her glove, and dropping 
the remainder into her pocket, left the building, and walked 
on toward Union Square. Absorbed in grave reflections, 
and oppressed by some vague foreboding of impending ill, 
dim, intangible and unlocalized — she moved slowly along 
the crowded sidewalk — unconscious of the curious glances 
directed toward her superb form, and stately graceful car- 
riage, which more than one person turned and looked back 
to admire, wondering when she had stepped down from some 
sacred Panathenaic Frieze. 

Near Madison Square, she paused before the window of 
a florist’s, and raising her veil, gazed longingly at the glow- 
ing mass of blossoms, which Nineteenth Century skill and 
wealth in defiance of isothermal lines, and climatic limita- 
tions force into perfection, in, and out of season. The violet 
eyes and crocus fingers of Spring smiled and quivered, at 
sight of the crimson rose heart, and flaming paeony cheeks 
of royal Summer; and creamy and purple chrysanthemums 
that quill their laces over the russet robes of Autumn, here 
stared in indignant amazement, at the premature pre- 
sumption of snowy regal camellias, audaciously advancing to 
crown the icy brows of Winter. All latitudes, all seasons 
have become bound vassals to the great God Gold; and his 
necromancy furnishes with equal facility the dewy wreaths 


i6 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


of orange flowers that perfume the filmy veils of December 
brides — and the blue bells of spicy hyacinths which ring 
“Rest” over the lily pillows, set as tribute on the graves of 
babies, who wilt under August suns. 

From early childhood, an ardent love of beauty had char- 
acterized this girl, whose covetous gaze wandered from a 
gorgeous scarlet and gold orchid nodding in dreams of its 
habitat, in some vanilla scented Brazilian jungle, to a bed 
of vivid green moss, where skilful hands had grouped great 
drooping sprays of waxen begonias, coral, faint pink, and 
ivory, all powdered with gold dust like that which gilds the 
heart of water-lilies. 

Such treasures were reserved for the family of Dives ; and 
counting her pennies. Beryl entered the store, where in- 
stantaneously the blended breath of heliotrope, tube-rose and 
mignonette wafted her across the ocean, to a white-walled 
fishing village on the Cornice, whose gray rocks were kissed 
by the blue lips of the Mediterranean. 

“What is the price of that cluster of Niphetos buds?” 

“One dollar.” 

“And that Auratum — with a few rose geranium leaves 
added?” 

“Seventy-five cents. You see it is wonderfully large, and 
the gold bands are so very deep.” 

She put one hand in her pocket and fingered a silver coin, 
but poverty is a grim, tyrannous stepmother to tender 
aestheticism, and prudential considerations prevailed. 

“Give me twenty-five cents worth of those pale blue 
double violets, with a sprig of lemon verbena, and a fringe 
of geranium leaves.” 

She laid the money on the counter, and while the florist 
selected and bound the blossoms into a bunch, she arr&sted 
his finishing touch. 

“Wait a moment. How much more for one Grand Duke 
jasmine in the centre?” 

“Ten cents. Miss.” 

She added the dime to the pennies she could ill afford to 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


17 

spare from her small hoard, and said: “Will you be so kind 
as to sprinkle it? I wish it kept fresh, for a sick lady.” 

Dusky shadows were gathering in the gloomy hall of the 
old tenement house, when Beryl opened the door of the 
comfortless attic room, where for many months she had 
struggled bravely to shield her mother from the wolf, that 
more than once snarled across the threshold. 

Mrs. Brentano was sitting in a low chair, with her elbows 
on her knees, her face hidden in her palms; and in her lap 
lay paper and pencil, while a sealed letter had fallen on the 
ground beside her. At the sound of the opening door, she 
lifted her head, and tears dripped upon the paper. In her 
faded flannel dressing-gown, with tresses of black hair 
straggling across her shoulders, she presented a picture of 
helpless mental and physical woe, which painted itself in- 
delibly on the panels of her daughter’s heart. 

“Why did you not wait until I came home? The exer- 
tion of getting up always fatigues you.” 

“You staid so long — and I am so uncomfortable in that 
wretchedly hard bed. What detained you?” 

“I went to see the Doctor, because I am unwilling to 
start away, without having asked his advice; and he has 
prescribed some new medicine which you will find in this 
bottle. The directions are marked on the label. Now I will 
put things in order, and try my hands on that refractory 
bed.” 

“What did the Doctor say about me?” 

“Nothing new; but he is confident that you can be cured 
in time, if we will only be patient and obedient. He prom- 
ised to see you in the morning.” 

She stripped the bed of its covering, shook bolster and 
pillows; turned over the mattress, and beat it vigorously; 
then put on fresh sheets, and adjusted the whole com- 
fortably. 

“Now mother, turn your head, and let me comb and brush 
and braid all this glossy black satin, to keep it from tangling 
while I am away. What a pity you did not dower your 


i8 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


daughter with part of it, instead of this tawny mane of 
mine, which is a constant affront to my fastidious artistic 
instincts. Please keep still a moment.” 

She unwrapped the tissue paper that covered her flowers, 
and holding her hands behind her, stepped in front of the 
invalid. 

“Dear mother, shut your eyes. There — ! of what does 
that remind you? The pergola — with great amber grape 
clusters — and white stars of jasmine shining through the 
leaves? All the fragrance of Italy sleeps in the thurible of 
this Grand-Duke.” 

“How delicious ! Ah, my extravagant child ! we cannot 
afford such luxuries now. The perfume recalls so vividly 
the time when Bertie — ” 

A sob cut short the sentence. Beryl pinned the flowers 
at her mother’s throat, kissed her cheek, and kneeling be- 
fore her, crossed her arms on the invalid’s lap, resting there 
the noble head, with its burnished crown of reddish bronze 
braids. 

“Mother dear, humor my childish whim. In defiance of 
my wishes and judgment, and solely in obedience to your 
command, I am leaving you for the first time, on a bitterly 
painful and humiliating mission. To-night, let me be indeed 
your little girl once more. My heart brings me to your 
knees, to say my prayers as of yore, and now while I pray, 
lay your dear pretty hands on my head. It will seem like a 
parting benediction; a veritable Nunc dimmitasF 


CHAPTER II. 

“I DO not want a carriage. If the distance is only a mile 
and a half, I can easily walk. After leaving town is there a 
straight road?” 

“Straight as the crow flies, when you have passed the fac- 
tory, and cemetery, and turned to the left. There is a lit- 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


19 


tie Branch running at the foot of the hill, and just across it, 
you will see the white palings, and the big gate with stone 
pillars, and two tremendous brass dogs on top, showing their 
teeth and ready to spring. There’s no mistaking the place, 
because it is the only one left in the country that looks like 
the good old times before the war; and the Yankees would 
not have spared it, had it not been such comfortable bomb- 
proof headquarters for their officers. It’s our show place 
now, and General Barrington keeps it up in better style, 
than any other estate I know.” 

“Thank you. I will £nd it.” 

Beryl walked away in the direction indicated, and the 
agent of the railway station, leaning against the door of the 
baggage room, looked with curious scrutiny after her. 

“I should like to know who she is. No ordinary person, 
that is clear. Such a grand figure and walk, and such a 
steady look in her big solemn eyes, as if she saw straight 
through a person, clothes, flesh and all. Wonder what her 
business can be with the old general?” 

From early childhood Beryl had listened so intently to her 
mother’s glowing descriptions of the beauty and elegance of 
her old home “Elm Bluff,” that she soon began to identify 
the land-marks along the road, after passing the cemetery, 
where so many generations of Barringtons slept in one cor- 
ner, enclosed by a lofty iron railing; exclusive in death as 
in life; jealously guarded and locked from contact with the 
surrounding dwellers in “God’s Acre.” 

The October day had begun quite cool and crisp, with a 
hint of frost in its dewy sparkle, but as though vanquished 
Summer had suddenly faced about, and charged furiously to 
cover her retreat, the south wind came heavily laden with 
hot vapor from equatorial oceanic caldrons; and now the 
afternoon sun, glowing in a cloudless sky, shed a yellowish 
glare that burned and tingled like the breath of a furnace; 
while along the horizon, a dim dull haze seemed blotting out 
the boundary of earth and sky. 

A portion of the primeval pine forest having been pre- 


20 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


served, the trees had attained gigantic height, thrusting their 
plumy heads heavenward, as their lower limbs died ; and year 
after year the mellow brown carpet of reddish straw deep- 
ened, forming a soft safe nidus for the seeds that sprang up 
and now gratefully embroidered it with masses of golden 
rod, starry white asters, and tall, feathery spikes of some 
velvety purple bloom, which looked royal by the side of a 
cluster of belated evening primroses. 

Pausing on the small but pretty rustic bridge, Beryl leaned 
against the interlacing cedar boughs twisted into a bal- 
ustrade, and looked down at the winding stream, where the 
clear water showed amber hues, flecked with glinting foam 
bubbles, as it lapped and gurgled, eddied and sang, over its 
bed of yellow gravel. Unacquainted with “piney-woods’ 
branches,’* she was charmed by the novel golden brown 
wavelets that frothed against the pillars of the bridge, and 
curled caressingly about the broad emerald fronds of lux- 
uriant ferns, which hung Narcissus-like over their own grace- 
ful quivering images. Profound quiet brooded in the warm, 
hazy air, burdened with balsamic odors ; but once a pine burr 
full of rich nutty mast crashed down through dead twigs, 
bruising the satin petals of a primrose; and ever and anon 
the oboe notes of that shy, deep throated hermit of ravines 
— the russet, speckled-breasted lark — thrilled through the 
woods, like antiphonal echoes in some vast, cool, columned 
cloister. 

The perfect tranquillity of the scene soothed the travel- 
weary woman, as though nestling so close to the great heart 
of nature, had stilled the fierce throbbing, and banished the 
gloomy forebodings of her own; and she walked on, through 
the iron gate, where the bronze mastiffs glared -warningly 
from their granite pedestal — on into the large undulating 
park, which stretched away to meet the line of primitive 
pines. There was no straight avenue, but a broad smooth 
carriage road curved gently up a hillside, and on both 
margins of the graveled way, ancient elm trees stood at 
regular intervals, throwing their boughs across, to unite in 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


21 


lifting the supurb groined arches, whose fine tracery of sinu- 
ous lines were here and there concealed by clustering mistle- 
toe— and gray lichen masses— and ornamented with bosses 
of velvet moss; while the venerable columnar trunks were 
now and then wreathed with poison-oak vines, where red 
trumpet flowers insolently blared defiance to the waxen 
pearls of encroaching mistletoe. 

On the other side, the grounds were studded with native 
growth, as though protective forestry statutes had crossed the 
ocean with the colonists, and on this billowy sea of varied 
foliage Autumn had set her illuminated autograph, in the 
vivid scarlet of sumach and black gum, the delicate lemon of 
wild cherry — ^the deep ochre all sprinkled and splashed with 
intense crimson, of the giant oaks — ^the orange glow of an- 
cestral hickory — and the golden glory of maples, on which 
the hectic fever of the dying year kindled gleams of fiery red ; 
— over all, a gorgeous blazonry of riotous color, toned down 
by the silver gray shadows of mossy tree-trunks, and the rich, 
dark, restful green of polished magnolias. 

Half a dozen fine Cotswold ewes browsed on the grass, 
and the small bell worn by a staid dowager tinkled musi- 
cally, as she threw up her head and watched suspiciously the 
figure moving under the elm arches. Beneath the far reach- 
ing branches of a patriarchal cedar, a small herd of Jersey 
calves had grouped themselves, as if posing for Landseer or 
Rosa Bonheur; and one pretty fawn-colored weanling ran 
across the sward to meet the stranger, bleating a welcome 
and looking up, with unmistakable curiosity in its velvety, 
long-lashed eyes. 

As the avenue gradually climbed the ascent, the outlines 
of the house became visible ; a stately, typical southern man- 
sion, like hundreds, which formerly opened hospitably their 
broad mahogany doors, and which, alas ! are becoming tra- 
ditional to this generation — obsolete as the brave chivalric, 
warm-hearted, open-handed, noble-souled, refined southern 
gentlemen who built and owned them. No Mansard roof 
here, no pseudo “Queen Anne” hybrid, with lowering, top- 


22 


^AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


heavy projections like scowling eyebrows over squinting 
eyes; neither mongrel Renaissance, nor feeble, sickly, imi- 
tation Elizabethan facades, and Tudor towers; none of the 
queer, composite, freakish impertinences of architectural 
style, which now-a-day do duty as the adventurous vanguard, 
the aesthetic vedettes “making straight the way,’' for the com- 
ing cohorts of Culture. 

The house at “Elm Bluff” was built of brick, overcast with 
stucco painted in imitation of gray granite, and its foundation 
was only four feet high, resting upon a broad terrace of 
brickwork; the latter bounded by a graceful wooden balus- 
trade, with pedestals for vases, on either side of the two 
stone steps leading down from the terrace to the carriage 
drive. The central halls, in both stories, divided the space 
equally into four rooms on each side, and along the wide 
front, ran a lofty piazza supporting the roof, with white 
smooth round pillars; while the upper broad square win- 
dows, cedar-framed, and deeply embrasured, looked down on 
the floor of the piazza, where so many generations of Bar- 
ringtons had trundled hoops in childhood — and promenaded 
as lovers in the silvery moonlight, listening to the ring doves 
cooing above them, from the columbary of the stucco cap- 
itals. This spacious colonnade extended around the northern 
and eastern side of the house, but the western end had form- 
erly been enclosed as a conservatory — which having been 
abolished, was finally succeeded by a comparatively modern 
iron veranda, with steps leading down to the terrace. In 
front of the building, between the elm avenue and the flower- 
bordered terrace, stood a row of very old poplar trees, tall 
as their forefathers in Lombardy, and to an iron staple 
driven into one of these, a handsome black horse was now 
fastened. 

Standing with one foot on the terrace step, close to the 
marble vases where heliotropes swung their dainty lilac 
chalices against her shoulder, and the scarlet geraniums 
stared unabashed. Beryl’s gaze wandered from the lovely 
park and ancient trees, to the unbroken facade of the gray 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


23 


old house; and as, in painful contrast she recalled the bare 
bleak garret room, where a beloved invalid held want and 
death at bay, a sudden mist clouded her vision, and almost 
audibly she murmured: “My poor mother! Now, I can 
realize the bitterness of your suffering; now I understand 
the intensity of your yearing to come back; the terrible 
home-sickness, which only Heaven can cure.’’ 

What is presentiment? The swaying of the veil of futur- 
ity, under the straining hands of our guardian angels? Is it 
the faint shadow, the solemn rustle of their hovering wings, 
as like mother birds they spread protecting plumes between 
blind fledglings, and descending ruin? Will theosophy ever 
explain and augment prescience? 

“It may be — 

The thoughts that visit us, we know not whence, 

Sudden as inspiration, are the whispers 
Of disembodied spirits, speaking to us 
As friends, who wait outside a prison wall. 

Through the barred windows speak to those within.” 

With difficulty Beryl resisted an inexplicable impulse to 
turn and flee ; but the drawn sword of duty pointed ahead. 

Striking her hands together, as if thereby crushing her 
reluctance to enter, she waited a moment, with closed eyes, 
while her lips moved in silent prayer; then ascending the 
terrace, she crossed the stone pavement, walked up the steps 
and slowly advanced to the threshold. The dark mahogany 
door was so glossy, that she dimly saw her own image on 
its polished panels, as she lifted and let fall the heavy silver 
knocker, in the middle of an oval silver plate, around the 
edges of which were raised the square letters of the name 
“Barrington.” The clanging sound startled a peacock, strut- 
ting among the verbena beds, and his shrill scream was an- 
swered by the deep hoarse bark of some invisible dog; then 
the heavy door swung open, and a gray-headed negro man, 
who wore a white linen apron over his black clothes, and 
field a waiter in one hand, stood before her. 

“I wish to see Mr. Barrington.” 


24 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


“I reckon you mean Gin’l Darrington, don’t you? Mr. 
Barrington, Marse Prince Darrington, is in Yurope.” 

“I mean Mr. Luke Darrington, the owner of this place.” 

“Jess so; Gin’l Luke Darrington. Well, you can’t see 
him.” 

“Why not? I must see him, and I shall stay here until I 
do.” 

“ ’Cause he is busy with his lie-yer, fixin’ of some papers ; 
and when te tells me not to let nobody else in I’de ruther 
set down in a yaller jacket’s nest than to turn the door knob, 
after he done shut it. Better leave your name and call 
ag’in.” 

“No, I will wait until he is at leisure. I presume my 
sitting on the steps here will not be a violation of your 
orders.” 

“To be shore not. But them steps are harder than the 
stool of repentance, and you had better walk in the drawing- 
room, and rest yourself. There’s pictures, and lots and piles 
of things there, you can pass away the time looking at.” 

He waved his waiter toward a long, dim apartment, on the 
left side of the hall. 

“Thank you, I prefer to sit here.” 

She seated herself on the top of the stone steps, and ta- 
king off her straw hat, fanned her heated brow, where the 
rich waving hair clung in damp masses. 

“What name, miss, must I give, when the lie-yer finishes 
his bizness?” 

“Say that a stranger wishes to see him about an important 
matter.” 

“Its mighty uncertain how long he will tarry ; for lie-yers 
live by talking; turning of words upside down, and wrong 
side outards, and reading words backards, and whitewashing 
black things, and smutting of white ones. Marse Lennox 
Dunbar (he is our lie-yer now, since his pa took paralsis) 
he is a powerful wrastler with justice. They do say down 
yonder, at the court house, that when he gets done with a 
witness, and turns him aloose, the poor creetur is so flus- 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


25 


trated in his mind, that he don’t know his own name, on when 
he was born, or where he was born, or whether he was ever 
bom at all.” 

Curiosity to discover the nature of the stranger’s er- 
rand had stimulated the old man’s garrulity, but receiv- 
ing no reply, he finally retreated, leaving the front door 
open. By the aid of a disfiguring scar on his furrowed 
cheek. Beryl recognized him as the brave, faithful, fam- 
ily coachman, Abednego, (abbreviated to “Bedney”) — 
who had once saved his mother’s life at the risk of his 
own. Mrs. Brentano had often related to her children, 
an episode in her childhood, when having gone to play with 
her dolls in the loft of the stable, she fell asleep on the hay ; 
and two hours later, Bedney remembering that he had heard 
her singing there to her dolls, rushed into the burning 
building, groped through the stifling smoke of the loft, and 
seizing the sleeping child, threw her out upon a pile of straw. 
When he attempted to jump after her, a falling rafter struck 
him to th€ earth, and left an honorable scar in attestation of 
his heroism. 

Had she yielded to the promptings of her heart, the 
stranger would gladly have shaken hands with him, and 
thanked him, in the name of those early years, when her 
mother’s childish feet made music on the wide mahogany 
railed stairs, that wound from the lower hall to the one 
above; but the fear of being denied an audience, deterred 
her from disclosing her name. 

Educated in the belief that the utterance of the abhorred 
name of Brentano, within the precincts of “Elm Bluff,” would 
produce an effect very similar to the ringing of some Tamil 
Pariah’s bell, before the door of a Brahman temple. Beryl 
wisely kept silent; and soon forgot her forebodings, in the 
contemplation of the supreme loveliness of the prospect be- 
fore her. 

The elevation was sufficient to command an extended 
view of the surrounding country, and of the river, which 
crossed by the railroad bridge north of the town, curved 


26 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


sharply to the east, whence she could trace its course 
as it gradually wound southward, and disappeared behind the 
house; where at the foot of a steep bluff, a pretty boat and 
bath house nestled under ancient willow trees. At her feet 
the foliage of the park stretched like some brilliant carpet, 
before whose gorgeous tints, ustads of Karman would have 
stood in despair; and beyond the sea-green, undulating line 
of pine forest she saw the steeple of a church, with its gilt 
vane burning in the sunshine, and the red brick dome of the 
ante helium court house. 

Time seemed to have fallen asleep on that hot, still after- 
noon, and Beryl was roused from her reverie by the sound of 
hearty laughter in the apartment opposite the drawing-room 
— followed by the tones of a man’s voice. 

“Thank you. General. That is my destination this after- 
noon, and I shall certainly expect you to dance at my wed- 
ding.” 

Quick, firm steps rang on the oil-cloth-covered floor of the 
hall, and Beryl rose and turned toward the door. 

With a cigar in one hand, hat and riding-whip in the 
other, the attorney stepped out on the colonnade, and paus- 
ing involuntarily, at sight of the stranger, they looked at 
each other. A man, perhaps, more, certainly not less than 
thirty years old, of powerful and impressive physique; very 
tall, athletic, sinewy, without an ounce of superfluous flesh 
to encumber his movements, in the professional palaestra; 
with a large finely modeled head, whose crisp black hair 
closely cut, was (contrary to the prevailing fashion) parted 
neither in the middle, nor yet on the side, but brushed 
straight back from the square forehead, thereby enhancing 
the massiveness of its appearance. 

Something in this swart, beardless face, with its brilliant 
inquisitorial dark blue eyes, handsome secretive mouth veiled 
by no mustache — and boldly assertive chin deeply cleft in 
the centre — affected Beryl very unpleasantly, as a perplexing 
disagreeable memory ; an uncanny resemblance hovering 
just beyond the grasp of identification. A feeling of un- 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


27 


accountable repulsion made her shiver, and she breathed 
more freely, when he bowed slightly, and walked on toward 
his horse. Upon the attorney her extraordinary appearance 
produced a profound impression, and in his brief scrutiny, 
no detail of her face, figure, or apparel escaped his keen 
probing gaze. 

Glancing back as he untied his bridle rein, his unspoken 
comment was : “Superb woman ; I wonder what brings her 
here? Evidently a stranger — ^with a purpose.” 

He sprang into the saddle, stooped his head to avoid the 
yellow poplar branches, and disappeared under the elm 
arches. 

“Gin’l Harrington’s compliments; and if your bizness is 
pressin’ you will have to see him in his bedcharmber, as he 
feels poorly to-day, and the Doctor won’t let him out. Follow 
me. You see, ole Marster remembers the war by the game 
leg he got at Sharpsburg, and sometimes it lays him up.” 

The old servant led Beryl through a long room, fitted up 
as a library and armory, and pausing before an open door, 
waved her into the adjoining apartment. One swift glance 
showed her the heavy canopied bedstead in one corner, the 
arch-shaped glass door leading out upon the iron veranda; 
and at an oblong table in the middle of the floor, the figure 
of a man, who rose, taller and taller, until he seemed a 
giant, drawn to his full height, and resting for support on 
the hand that was rested upon the table. Intensity of emo- 
tion arrested her breath, as she gazed at the silvered head, 
piercing black eyes, and spare wasted frame of the handsome 
man, who had always reigned as a brutal ogre in her im- 
agination. The fire in his somewhat sunken eyes, seemed to 
bid defiance to the whiteness of the abundant hair, and of 
the heavy mustache which drooped over his lips; and every 
feature in his patrician face revealed not only a long line of 
blue-blooded ancestors, but the proud haughtiness which had 
been considered always as distinctively characteristic of the 
Barringtons as their finely cut lips, thin nostrils, small feet 
and imusual height. 


28 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


Unprepared for the apparition that confronted him, Luke 
Barrington bowed low, surveyed her intently, then pointed to 
a chair opposite his own. 

“Walk in, Madam; or perhaps it may be Miss? Will you 
take a seat, and excuse the feebleness that forces me to 
receive visits in my bed-room?” 

As he reseated himself. Beryl advanced and stood beside 
him, but for a moment she found it impossible to utter the 
words, rehearsed so frequently during her journey ; and while 
she hesitated, he curiously inspected her face and form. 

Her plain, but perfectly fitting bunting dress, was of the 
color, popularly dominated “navy-blue,” and the linen collar 
and cuffs were scarcely whiter than the round throat and 
wrists they encircled. The burnished auburn hair clinging 
in soft waves to her brow, was twisted into a heavy coil, 
which the long walk had shaken down till it rested almost 
on her neck; and though her heart beat furiously, the pale 
calm face might have been marble, save for the scarlet lines 
of her beautiful mouth, and the steady glow of the dilated 
pupils in her great gray eyes. 

“Pray be seated; and tell me to whom I am indebted for 
the pleasure of this visit?” 

“I am merely the bearer of a letter which will explain 
itself, and my presence, in your house.” 

Mechanically he took the proferred letter, and with his 
eyes still lingering in admiration upon the classic outlines 
of her face and form, leaned back comfortably against the 
velvet lining of his armchair. 

“Are you some exiled goddess travelling incognito? If 
we lived in the ^piping days of Pan’ I should flatter myself 
that ‘Ox-eyed Juno’ had honored me with a call, as a reward 
for my care of her favorite bird.” 

Receiving no reply he glanced at the envelope in his hand, 
and as he read the address — “To my dear father, Gen’l Luke 
Barrington” — the smile on his face changed to a dark scowl 
and he tossed the letter to the floor, as if it were a red-hot 
coal. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


-9 


“Only one living being has the right to call me father— my 
son, Prince Barrington. I have repeatedly refused to hold 
any communication with the person who wrote that letter.’^ 

Beryl stooped to pick it up, and with a caressing touch, 
as though it were sentient, held it against her heart. 

“Your daughter is dying; and this is her last appeal.'' 

“I have no daughter. Twenty-three years ago my daughter 
buried herself in hopeless disgrace, and for her there can be 
no resurrection here. If she dreams that I am in my dotage, 
and may relent, she strangely forgets the nature of the blood 
she saw fit to cross with that of a beggarly foreign scrub. 
Go back and tell her, the old man is not yet senile and 
imbecile; and that the years have only hardened his heart. 
Tell her, I have almost learned to forget even how she 
looked." 

His eyes showed a dull reddish fire, like those of some 
drowsy caged tiger, suddenly stirred into wrath, and a gray- 
ish pallor — the white heat of the Barringtons — settled on 
his face. 

Twice Beryl walked the length of the room, but each time 
the recollection of her mother’s tearful, suffering countenance, 
and the extremity of her need, drove her back to the chair. 

“If you knew that your daughter's life hung by a thread, 
would you deliberately take a pair of shears and cut it ?" 

He glared at her in silence, and leaning forward on the 
table, pushed roughly aside a salver, on which stood a de- 
canter and two wine glasses. 

“I am here to tell you a solemn truth; then my respon- 
sibility ends. Your daughter's life rests literally in your 
hands; for unless you consent to furnish the money to pay 
for a surgical operation, which may restore her health, 
she will certainly die. I am indulging in no exaggeration to 
extort alms. In this letter is the certificate of a distinguished 
physician, corroborating my statement. If you, the author 
of her being, prefer to hasten her death, then your choice of 
an awful revenge must be settled between your hardened 
conscience and your God." 


30 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


“You are bold indeed, to beard me in my own house, and 
tell me to my face what no man would dare to utter.” 

His voice was an angry pant, and he struck his clenched 
hand on the table with a force that made the glasses jingle, 
and the sherry dance in the decanter. 

“Yes, you scarcely realize how much bravery this painful 
errand demands; but the tender love in a woman’s heart 
nerves her to bear fiery ordeals, that vanquish a man’s 
courage.” 

“Then you find that^age has not drawn the fangs from the 
old crippled Barrington lion, nor clipped his claws?” 

The sneer curved his white mustache, until she saw the 
outline of the narrow, bloodless underlip. 

“That king of beasts scorns to redden his fangs, or flesh 
his claws, in the quivering body of his own offspring. 
Your metaphor is an insult to natural instincts.” 

She laid the letter once more before him, and looked down 
on him, with ill-concealed aversion. 

“Who are you ? By what right dare you intrude upon me ?” 

“I am merely a sorrowful, anxious, poverty-stricken wom- 
an, whose heart aches over her mother’s sufferings and who 
would never have endured the humiliation of this interview, 
except to deliver a letter in the hope of prolonging my 
mother’s life.” 

“You do not mean that you are — my ” 

“I am nothing to you, sir, but the bearer of a letter from 
your dying daughter.” 

“You cannot be the child of — of Ellice?” 

After the long limbo of twenty-three years, the name burst 
from him, and with what a host of memories its echo peopled 
the room, where that erring daughter had formerly reigned 
queen of his heart. 

“Yes, Ellice is my dear mother’s name.” 

He stared at the majestic form, and at the faultless face 
looking so proudly down upon him, as from an inaccessible 
height; and she heard him draw his breath, with a labored 
hissing sound. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


31 


“But — I thought her child was a boy?'* 

“I am the youngest of two children.” 

“It is impossible that you are the daughter of that infernal, 
low-born, fiddling foreign vagabond who ” 

“Hush ! The dead are sacred !” 

She threw up her hand, with an imperious gesture, not of 
deprecation, but of interdict; and all the stony calm in her 
pale face seemed shivered by a passionate gust, that made 
her eyes gleam like steel under an electric flash. 

“I am the daughter of Ignace Brentano, and I love, and 
honor his memory, and his name. No drop of your Darring- 
ton blood runs in my veins; I love my dear mother — but I 
am my father^s daughter — and I want no nobler heritage than 
his name. Upon you I have no shadow of claim, but I am 
here from dire necessity, at your mercy — a helpless, de- 
fenseless pleader in my mother’s behalf — and as such, I ap- 
peal to the boasted southern chivalry, upon which you pride 
yourself, for immunity from insult while I am under your 
roof. Since I stood no taller than your knee, my mother 
has striven to inculcate a belief in the nobility, refinement, 
and chivalric deference to womanhood, inherent in southern 
gentlemen; and if it be not all a myth, I invoke its pro- 
tection against abuse of my father. A stranger, but a lady, 
every inch, I demand the respect due from a gentleman.” 

For a moment they eyed each other, as gladiators await- 
ing the signal, then General Barrington sprang to his feet, 
and with a bow, stately and profound as if made to a 
duchess, replied : 

“And in the name of southern chivalry, I swear you shall 
receive it.” 

“Read your daughter’s letter ; give me your answer, and let 
us cut short an interview — which, if disagreeable to you, is 
almost unendurable to me.” 

Turning away, she began to walk slowly up and down the 
floor ; and smothering an oath under his heavy mustache, the 
old man sank back in his chair, and opened the letter. 


32 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


CHAPTER III. 

Holding in leash the painful emotions that struggled for 
utterance, Beryl was unconscious of the lapse of time, and 
when her averted eyes returned reluctantly to her grand- 
father’s face, he was slowly tearing into shreds the tear- 
stained letter, freighted with passionate prayers for pardon, ' 
and for succor. Rolling the strips into a ball, he threw it 
into the waste-paper basket under the table; then filled a 
glass with sherry, drank it, and dropped his head wearily 
on his hand. Five leaden minutes crawled away, and a long, 
heavy sigh quivered through Gen’l Barrington’s gaunt 
frame. Seizing the decanter, he poured the contents into 
two glasses, and as he raised one to his lips, held the other 
toward his visitor. 

“You must be weary from your journey; let me insist that 
you drink some sherry.” 

“Thank you, I neither wish nor require it.” 

“I find your name is Beryl. Sit down here, and answer 
a few questions.” He drew a chair near his own. 

She shook her head: 

“If you will excuse me, I prefer to stand.” 

In turning, so as to confront her fully, his elbow struck 
from the table, a bronze paper-weight which rolled just 
beyond his reach. Instinctively she stooped to pick it up, 
and in restoring it, her fingers touched his. Leaning sud- 
denly forward he grasped her wrists ere she was aware of 
his intention, and drew her in front of him. 

“Pardon me ; but I want a good look at you.” 

His keen merciless eyes searched every feature, and he 
deliberately lifted and examined the exquisitely shaped 
strong, white hands, the dainty nails, and delicately rounded 
wrists with their violet tracery of veins. It cost her an 
effort, to abstain from wrenching herself free; but her 
mother’s caution : “So much depends on the impression you 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


33 


make upon father,” girded her to submit to his critical in- 
spection. 

A grim smile crossed his face, as he watched her. 

“Blood often doubles, like a fox; sometimes ‘crops back,’ 
but never lies. You can’t play out your role of pauper; 
and you don’t look a probable outcome of destitution and 
hard work. Your hands would fit much better in a metope 
of the Elgin Marbles, than in a wash-tub, or a bake-oven.” 

Drawing away quickly, she put them behind her, and felt 
her palms tingle. 

“It is expected I should believe that for some time past, 
you have provided for your own, and your mother’s wants. 
In what way?” 

“By coloring photographs; by furnishing designs for 
Christmas and Easter cards, and occasionally (not often), 
by selling drawings used for decorating china, and wall- 
paper. At one time, I had regular pay for singing in a 
choir, but diphtheria injured my throat, and when I partly 
recovered my voice, the situation had been given to an- 
other person.” 

“I am informed also that before long, you intend to 
astonish the world with a wonderful picture, which shall 
distance such laggards as Troyon, Dore, and Ary Scheffer?” 

She was looking, not at him, but out through the glass 
door, at the glowing western sky, where distant pine trees 
printed their silhouettes. Now her gaze came back to his 
face, and he noted a faint quiver in her full throat. 

“If God will mercifully spare my mother to me, my loftiest 
and holiest ambition shall be to distance the wolfish cares 
and woes that have hunted her, ever since she became a 
widow. Any and all honest labor that can contribute to 
her comfort, will be welcome and sweet to me.” 

“The laws of heredity must be occult and complex. The 
offspring of a rebellious and disobedient child, is certainly 
entitled to no filial instincts; and some day the strain will 
tell, and you will overwhelm your mother with ingratitude, 
black as that which she showed me.” 


34 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


“When I do, may God eternally forsake me !” 

A brief silence ensued, and the old man drummed on the 
table, with the fingers of his right hand. 

“Who educated you?"’ 

“My dear father.” 

“It seems there are two of you. Where is your brother?” 

“At present, I do not know exactly where he is, but I 
think in the far West; possibly in Montana — probably in 
Canada.” 

“How does he earn his bread? By daubing, or fiddling?” 

“Since he earns it honestly, that is his own affair. We 
have not heard from him for some months.” 

“I thought so! He inherits the worthless vagabond strain 
of—” 

“He is his mother’s idol, and she glories in his resem- 
blance to you, sir; and to your father; hence his name — 
Robert L. Barrington.” 

“Then she must have one handsome child! I am not sur- 
prised that he is the favorite.” 

“Bertie certainly is her darling, and he is very handsome; 
not in the very least degree like me.” 

For the first time, their eyes met in a friendly glance, 
and a covert smile stirred the General’s lips; but as he put 
out his hand toward her, she moved a step beyond his 
reach. 

“Beryl, you consider me a dreadful, cruel old tyrant?” 

She made no reply. 

“Answer me.” 

“You are my mother’s father; and that word— father, 
means so much to me, that it shall shield even you, from 
the shadow of disrespect.” 

“Oh ! very dutiful indeed, but dead as the days when 
daughters obeyed, and honored their fathers! Beggarly 
foreign professors wiped all that out of the minds of wealthy 
girls at boarding schools — just as they changed their back- 
woods pronunciation of French and Italian. Don’t evade my 
question.” 





« 


0 


'> 


I .t' 


1 



« • 



“Good-bye, Gen’l Dairington,’' said Beryl; but raising his cane, 
he held it out to intercept her. Page 45. 

— At the Mercy of Tiberius. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 35 

“I did not come here, sir, to bandy words; and I ended 
my mission by delivering the letter intrusted to me.” 

“You regard me as a vindictive old bear?” 

“I had heard much of the Barringtons ; I imagined a great 
deal more; but now, like the Queen of Sheba, I must testify 
— ‘Behold, the half was not told me.’ ” 

He threw back his lion-like head, and laughed. 

“That will do. Shake hands, child.” 

“No, thank you.” 

“And you will not sit down?” 

“Frankly, I prefer not. I long to get away.” 

“You shall certainly be gratified, but there are a few 
things which I intend you shall hear. Of course you know 
that your mother was my only child, and an heiress; but 
you are ignorant probably of the fact that when she re- 
turned to boarding school for the last session, she was en- 
gaged in marriage to the son of my best friend — a man in 
every respect desirable, and thoroughly acceptable to me.” 

“So my mother told me.” 

“Indeed? She should blush to remember it. While she 
wore his engagement ring, she forgot her promise to him, 
her duty to me, her lineage, her birth, her position — and 
was inveigled by a low adventurer who ” 

“Who was my own precious father — poor, but noble, and 
worthy of any princess ! Unless you can refer to him 
respectfully, name him not at all, in his child’s presence.” 

She suddenly towered over him, like some threatening 
fate, and her uplifted arm trembled from the intensity of her 
indignation. 

“At least — you are loyal to your tribe !” 

“I am, to my heart’s core. You could pay me no higher 
compliment.” 

“Ellice wrote that she had bestowed her afifections on — 
on — the ‘exiled scion of a noble house,’ who paid his board 
bill by teaching languages and music in the school ; and who 
very naturally preferred to marry a rich fool, who would 
pay them for him. I answered her letter, which was ad- 


36 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


dressed te her own mother — then quite ill at home — and I 
told her p/ecisely what she might expect, if she persisted 
in her insane folly. As soon as my wife convalesced suf- 
ficiently to render my departure advisable, I started to bring 
my daughter home; but she ran away, a few hours before 
my arrival, and while, hoping to rescue Ellice, I was in pur- 
suit of the precious pair, my wife relapsed and died — the 
victim of excitement brought on by her child’s disgrace. I 
came back here to a desolate, silent house; — ^bereft of wife 
and daughter ; and in the grave of her mother, I buried every 
atom of love and tenderness I ever entertained for Ellice. 
When the sun is suddenly blotted out at noon, and the world 
turns black — black, we grope to and fro aimlessly; but after 
awhile, we accommodate ourselves to the darkness; — and so, 
I became a different man — very hard, and I dare say very 
bitter. The world soon learned that I would tolerate no 
illusion to my disgrace, and people respected my family 
cancer, and prudently refrained from offering me nostrums 
to cure it. My wife had a handsome estate of her own 
right, and every cent of her fortune I collected, and sent 
with her jewelry to Ellice. Did you know this?” 

“I have heard only of the jewels.” 

“As I supposed, the money was squandered before you 
could recollect.” 

‘T know that we were reduced to poverty, by the failure 
of some banking house in Paris. I was old enough when 
it occurred, to remember ever afterward, the dismay and 
distress it caused. My father no doubt placed my mother’s 
money there for safety.” 

“I wrote one long, final letter when I sent the checks for 
the money, and I told Ellice I wished never to see, never to 
hear from her again. I told her also, I had only one wish 
concerning her, and that was, that I might be able to forget 
her so completely, that if we should meet in the Last Judg- 
ment, I could not possibly know her. I assured her she 
need expect nothing at my death; as I had taken good care 
that my estate should not fall into the clutches of — her— 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


37 


‘exiled scion of a noble house/ Now do you conrd'Ier that 
she has any claim on me?’^ 

“You must not ask me to sit in judgment on my parents/* 

“You shall decide a question of business facts. I pro- 
vided liberally for her once; can you expect me to do so 
again? Has she any right to demand it?” 

“Having defied your parental wishes, she may have for- 
feited a daughter’s claim; but as a heart-broken sufferer, 
you cannot deny her the melancholy privilege of praying for 
your help, on her death-bed.” 

The proud clear voice trembled, and Beryl covered her 
face with her hands. 

“Then we will ignore outraged ties of blood, and treat 
on the ground of mere humanity? Let me conclude, for it 
is sickening and loathsome to a man of my age, to see his 
long silent household graves yawn, and give up uncalled — 
their sheeted dead. For some years the money sent, was 
a quietus, and I was left in peace. I was lonely; it wait 
hard work to forget, because I could never forgive; and thrj 
more desolate the gray ruin, the more nature yearns t'.< 
cover it close with vines and flowers; so after a time, I 
married a gentle, pure hearted woman, who made the best 
of what was left of me. We had no children, but she had 
one son of a former marriage, who proved a noble trust- 
worthy boy; and by degrees he crept into my heart, ancf 
raked together the cinders of my dead affections, and kindled, 
a feeble flame that warmed my shivering old age. Wheii 
I felt assured that I was not thawing another serpent t(t 
sting me for my pains, I adopted Thornton Prince, and with 
the aid of a Legislative enactment, changed his name t(t 
Prince Darrington. Only a few months elapsed, before hif 
mother, of whom I was very fond, died of consumption; 
and my boy and I comforted each other. Then I made m)i 
second and last will, and took every possible precaution to 
secure my estate of every description to him. He is my 
sole heir, and I intend that at my death he shall rece'U'^ 
every cent I possess. Did you know this?” 


38 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


“I did, because your last endorsement on a letter of my 
mother’s returned unopened to her, informed her of the 
fact.” 

“Why? Because in violation of my wishes she had per- 
sisted in writing, and soon began to importune me for 
money. Then I made her understand that even at my death, 
she would receive no aid ; and since that endorsement, I have 
returned or destroyed her letters unread. My Will is so 
strong — has been drawn so carefully — that no contest can 
touch it; and it will stand forever between your mother and 
my property.” 

As he uttered these words, he elevated his voice, which 
had a ring of savage triumph in its harsh excited tones. 
Just then, a muffled sound attracted his attention, and seizing 
his gold-headed cane, he limped with evident pain to the 
threshold of the adjoining room. 

“Bedney.” 

Receiving no reply, he closed the door with a violence 
that jarred the whole room; and came slowly back to the 
table, where he stood leaning heavily on his stick. 

“At least we will have no eavesdropping at this resur- 
rection of my dead. That Ellice is now a miserable woman, 
I have no doubt; for truly: 'Quien se casa por amoves, ha 
de vivir con dolores! Of course you understand Spanish?” 

“No, sir; but no matter; I take it for granted that you 
intend some thrust at my mother, and I have heard quite 
enough.” 

“Don’t know Spanish? Why I fancied your — your "exiled 
scion of a noble house’ — taught all the languages under the 
sun; including that used by the serpent in beguiling Eve! 
Well, the wise old adage means: ‘Who marries for love, 
lives with sorrow.' Ellice made her choice, and she shall 
abide by it; and you — being unluckily her daughter — will 
share the punishment. If ‘fathers will eat sour grapes, the 
children’s teeth must be set on edge.’ I repudiate all claims 
on my parental treasury, save such as I have given to my 
son Prince. To every other draft I am bankrupt; but 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


39 


merely as a gentleman, I will now for the last time, respond 
to the petition of a sick woman, whose child is so loyal as 
to arouse my compassion. Ellice has asked for one hundred 
dollars. You shall have it. But first, tell me why she did 
not go to the hospital, and submit to the operation which 
she says will cure her?” 

“Because I could not be with her there, and I will never 
be separated from her. The aneurism has grown so alarm- 
ingly, that I became desperate, and having no one to aid us, 
I reluctantly obeyed my mother’s requirement that I should 
come here. I could not summon my brother, because I 
have no idea where a letter would reach him; and with no 
friend — but the God of the friendless — I am before you. 
There is one thing I ought to tell you; I have terrible fore- 
bodings of the result of the operation, from which the 
Doctor encourages her to hope so much. She will not be 
able to take anaesthetics, at least not chloroform, because she 
has a weak heart, and — ” 

“Yes — a very weak heart! It was never strong enough 
to hold her to her duty.” 

“If you could see her now, I think even your vindictive 
hatred would be sufficiently gratified. So wasted, so broken ! 
— and with such a ceaseless craving for a kind word from 
you. One night last week pain made her restless, and I 
heard her sob. When I tried to relieve the suffering, she 
cried bitterly: Tt is not my poor body alone — it is the 
gnawing hunger to see father once more. He loved me so 
fondly once, and if I could crawl to his feet, and clasp his 
knees in my arms, I could at least die in peace. I am 
starving for just one sight of him — one touch.’ My poor 
darling mother I My beautiful, bruised, broken flower.” 

Through the glittering mist of unshed tears, her eyes 
shone, like silver lamps; and for a moment Gen’l Darrington 
covered his face with one hand. 

“If you could realize how bitterly galling to my own pride 
and self respect is this appeal to a man who hates and 
spurns all whom I love, I think, sir, that even you would 


40 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


pity me so heartily, that your hardened heart would melt 
into one last farewell message of forgiveness to your un- 
fortunate daughter. I would rather carry her one word of 
love than all your fortune.’’ 

“No — I come of a flinty race. We never forgive insults; 
never condone wrongs ; and expecting loyalty in our own 
blood, we cannot live long enough to pardon its treachery. 
Once, I made an idol of my beautiful, graceful, high-bred 
girl; but she stabbed my pride, dragged my name through 
the gutters, broke her doting mother’s heart; and now, I 
tell you, she is as dead to me as if she had lain twenty- 
three years in her grave. I have only one message. Tell 
her she is reaping the tares her oWn hand sowed. I know 
her no more as child of mine; and my son fills her place 
so completely, I do not even miss her. That is the best I 
can say. No doubt I am hard, but at least I am honest; 
and I will not feign what I cannot feel.” 

He limped across the floor, to a recess on one side of the 
chimney, where a square vault with an iron door had been 
built into the wall. Leaning on his cane, he took from his 
pocket a bunch of keys, fitted one into the lock, and push- 
ing the bolt, the door slid back into a groove, instead of 
opening on hinges. He lifted a black tin box from the 
depths of the vault, carried it to the table, sat down, and 
opened it. Near the top, were numerous papers tied into 
packages with red tape, and two large envelopes carefully 
sealed with dark-green wax. In removing the bundles, to 
find something beneath them, these envelopes were laid on 
the table; and as one was either accidentally or intention- 
ally turned. Beryl saw the endorsement written in bold 
black letters, and heavily underscored in red ink: ‘'Last 
Will and Testament of Robert Luke DarringtonT Untying 
a small chamois bag, the owner counted out five twenty- 
dollar gold pieces, closed the bag, and replaced it in the 
box. 

“Hold out your hand. Your mother asked for one hun- 
dred dollars. Here is the exact amount. Henceforth, leave 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


41 


me in peace. I am an old man, and I advise you to ‘let 
sleeping dogs lie.’ ” 

If he had laid a red-hot iron on her palm, it would scarcely 
have been more scorching than the touch of his gold, and 
only the vision of a wan and woful face in that far off 
cheerless attic room, restrained her impulse to throw it at 
his feet. 

An almost intolerable humiliation dyed her pale cheeks 
a deep purplish crimson, and she proudly drew herself to 
her utmost height. 

“Because I cannot now help myself, I accept the money 
— not as a gift, but as a loan for my mother’s benefit; and 
so help me God ! I will not owe it to you one moment 
longer than by hard labor I can earn and return it. Good- 
bye, Gen’l Darrington.” 

She turned toward the closed door leading to the library, 
but raising his cane, he held it out, to intercept her. 

“Wait a moment. There is one thing more.” 

He took from the tin box an oblong package, wrapped 
in letter paper, yellowed by age, and carefully sealed with 
red wax. As he held it up, she read thereon: ‘'My last 
folly!' He tore off the paper, lifted an old fashioned mo- 
rocco case, and attempted to open it, but the catch was 
obstinate, or rusty, and several ineffectual efforts were 
made, ere he succeeded in moving the spring. The once 
white velvet cushion, had darkened and turned very yellov/, 
but time had robbed in no degree, the lustre of the mag- 
nificent sapphires coiled there; and the blue fires leaped 
out, as if rejoicing in the privilege of displaying their 
splendor. 

“This set of stones was intended as a gift to your mother, 
when she was graduated at boarding-school. The time fixed 
for the close of the session was only one month later than 
the day on which she eloped with that foreign fraud, who 
should never have been allowed in the school. My wife 
had promised that if your mother won the honor of vale- 
dictorian, she should have the handsomest present ever worn 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 




at a commencement. These costly sapphires were my poor 
wife’s choice. Poor Helena ! how often she admired them !” 
His voice faltered, and he bit his under lip to still its quiver. 

Was there some necromancy in the azure flames, that sud- 
denly revealed the beloved face of the wife of his youth, 
and the lovely vision of their only child? His eagle eyes 
were dim with tears, and his hand shook; but, as if ashamed 
of the weakness, he closed the jewel case with a snap, and 
held it out. 

“Here — take them. I had intended to give them as a 
bridal present to my son’s wife, when he marries to suit me 
— as he certainly will; but somehow, such a disposal seems 
hard on my dear Helena’s wishes, and for her sake, I don’t 
feel quite easy about leaving them to Prince’s bride. Your 
mother never saw them, never knew of their existence. 
They are very valuable, and the amount they will bring 
must relieve all present necessities. Tell Ellice the sight 
of the case disturbs me, like a thorn in the flesh, so I send 
them away, to rid myself of an annoyance. She must not 
thank me; they come from her — dead mother.” 

“A knowledge of their history would give her infinitely 
more pain than the proceeds of their sale could bring com- 
fort. I would not stab her aching heart for twenty times 
the value of the jewels.” 

“Then sell them, or do as you like. It matters not what 
becomes of them, if I am spared in future all reminders of 
the past. Put them in your pocket. What? The case is 
too large? Where is your trunk — your baggage?” 

“I have none, except my basket and shawl.” 

She picked them up from the carpet near the library door, 
and dropped the case into her basket. 

“You are a brave, and a loyal woman, and you appear to 
deserve far better parents than fell to your lot. Before you 
go, let me offer you a glass of wine, and a biscuit.” 

“Thank you — no. I could not possibly accept it.” 

“Well, we shall never meet again. Good-bye. Shake 
hands.” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


43 


“I will very gladly do so if you will only give me just 
one gentle, forgiving kind word to comfort mother.” 

He set his teeth, and shook his head. 

“Good-bye, Gen’l Barrington. When you lie down to die, 
I hope God will be more merciful to your poor soul, than 
you have shown yourself to your suffering child.” 

He bowed profoundly. 

Her hand was on the knob of the door, when he pointed 
to the western veranda. 

“You are going back to town? Then, if you please, be so 
good as to pass out through that rear entrance, and close 
the glass door after you. A side path leads to the lawn; 
and I prefer that you should not meet the servants, who 
pry and tattle.” 

When she stood on the veranda, and turned to close the 
wide arched glass door, whence the inside red silk curtain 
had been looped back, her last view of the gaunt, tall figure 
within, showed him leaning on his stick, with the tin box 
held in his left hand, and the dying sunlight shining on his 
silver hair and furrowed face. 

Along the serpentine path which was bordered with 
masses of brilliant chrysanthemums. Beryl walked rapidly, 
feeling almost stifled by the pressure of contending emo- 
tions. Recollecting that these spice censers of Autumn were 
her mother’s favorite flowers, she stooped and broke several 
lovely clusters of orange and garnet color, hoping that a 
lingering breath of perfume from the home of her girlhood, 
might afford at least a melancholy pleasure to the distant 
invalid. 

Advancing into the elm avenue, she heard a voice calling, 
and looking back, saw the old negro man, Bedney, waving 
his white apron and running toward her; but at that mo- 
ment his steps were arrested by the sudden, loud and rapid 
ringing of a bell. He paused, listened, wavered; then threw 
up his hands, and hurried back to the house, whence issued 
the impatient summons. 

The sun had gone down in the green sea of far-off pine 


44 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


tops, but the western sky glowed like some vast altar of 
topaz, whereon zodiacal fires had kindled the rays of vivid 
rose, that sprang into the zenith and cooled their flush in 
the pale blue of the upper air. Under the elms, swift 
southern twilight was already filling the arches with purple 
gloom, and when the heavy iron gate closed with a sullen 
clang behind her. Beryl drew a long deep breath of relief. 
On the sultry atmosphere broke the gurgling andante music 
of the “branch,” as it eddied among the nodding ferns, and 
darted under the bridge; and the weary, thirsty woman 
knelt on the mossy margin, dipped up the amber water in 
her palms, drank, and bathed her burning face which still 
tingled painfully. 

Having learned from the station agent, who had already 
sold her a return ticket, that the north bound railway train, 
by which she desired to travel home, would not depart until 
7.15, she was beguiled by the brilliance of the sky into the 
belief that she had ample time, to comply with her mother’s 
farewell request. Mrs. Brentano had tied with a scrap of 
ribbon the bouquet of flowers, bought by her daughter on 
the afternoon of her journey south, and asked her to lay 
them on her mother’s grave. 

Anxious to accomplish this sacred mission Beryl took the 
faded blossoms from her basket, added a cluster of chrysan- 
themums, a frond of fern from the “branch” border, and 
hurried on to the cemetery. When she reached the en- 
trance, the gate was locked, but unwilling to return without 
having gratified her mother’s wish, she climbed into a spread- 
ing cedar close by the low brick wall, and swung herself 
easily down inside the enclosure. 

Some time was lost in finding the Barrington lot, but at 
last she stood before a tall iron railing, that bristled with 
lance-like points, between the dust of her ancestors and 
herself. In one corner rose a beautiful monument, bearing 
on its front, in gilt letters, the inscription “Helena Tracy, 
wife of R. L. Barrington.” 

Thrusting her hand through a space in the railing. Beryl 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


45 


dropped her mother’s withered Arkja tribute on the marble 
slab. Her dress was caught by a sharp point of iron, and 
while endeavoring to disengage it, she heard the shrill whis- 
tle of the R. R. engine. Tearing the skirt away, she ran 
to the wall, climbed over, after some delay, and finding her- 
self once more in the open road, darted on as fast as possible 
through the dusk, heedless of appearances, fearful only of 
missing the train. How the houses multiplied, and what in- 
terminable lengths the squares seemed, as she neared the 
brick warehouse and office of the station ! The lamps at 
the street corners beckoned her on, and when panting for 
breath she rushed around the side of the tall building that 
fronted the railway, there was no train in sight. 

Two or three coal cars stood on a siding, near a detached 
engine, where one man was lighting the lamp before the 
reflector of the headlight, and another, who whistled mer- 
rily, burnished the brass and copper platings. In the door 
of the ticket office the agent lounged, puffed his cigar, and 
fanned himself with his hat. 

“What time is it?” cried Beryl. 

“Seven' — forty-five.” 

“Oh ! do not tell me I have missed the train.” 

“You certainly have. I told you it left at 7:15 sharp. 
It was ten minutes behind time on account of hot boxes, 
but rolled out just twenty minutes ago. Did you get lost, 
hunting ‘Elm Bluff,’ and miss your train on that account?” 

“No, I had no difficulty in finding the place, but having no 
watch, I was forced to guess at the time. Only twenty 
minutes too late !” 

“Did you see the old war-horse?” 

Beryl did not answer, and after a moment the agent 
added : 

“That is Gen’l Darrington’s nick-name all over this sec- 
tion.” 

“When will the next train leave here?” 

“Not until 3:05 A.M.” 

Beryl sat down on the edge of a baggage truck, and pon- 


46 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


dered the situation. She knew that her mother, who had 
carefully studied the railway schedule, was with feverish 
anxiety expecting her return by the train, now many miles 
away; and she feared that any unexplained detention would 
have an injurious effect on the sick woman’s shattered 
nerves. 

Although she could ill afford the expense, she resolved to 
allay all apprehension, by the costly sedative of a telegram. 

Only a wall separated the ticket office from that of the 
^‘telegraph,” and approaching the operator. Beryl asked for 
a blank form, on which she wrote her mother’s address, and 
the following message: 

“Complete success required delay. All will be satisfac- 
tory. Expect me Saturday. B. B.” 

When she had paid the operator, there remained in her 
purse, exclusive of the gold coins received that afternoon, 
only thirty-eight cents. Where could she spend the next 
seven hours? Interpreting the perplexed expression of her 
face, the agent, who had curiously noted her movements, 
said courteously: 

“There is a hotel a few blocks off, where you can rest 
until train time.” 

“I prefer to remain here.” 

“We generally lock up this office about half-past eight, 
and re-open at half-past two, v/hich gives passengers ample 
accommodation for the 3:05 train.” 

“Would you violate regulations by leaving the waiting- 
room open to-night?” 

“Not exactly; as of course we are obliged to keep open 
for delayed trains; but it will be lonesome waiting, for no 
one stays here, except the Night Train Despatcher, and the 
switch watchman. Still if it will oblige you, miss, I will 
not lock up, and you can doze away the time by spreading 
your shawl on two chairs. I am going to supper now, and 
shall turn down the lights. One burner will be sufficient.” 

“Thank you very much. Where can I find some water?” 

“In the cooler in the ladies’ dressing-room. It is most 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


47 


unaccountably hot to-night, and I never knew anything like 
it in October. There must be a cyclone brewing somewhere 
not far off.” 

He lifted his hat, as he passed her, and disappeared; and 
the tired girl seated herself near a window and stirred the 
dense, impure air by fanning herself with her straw hat. 
Gradually the few stragglers loitering about the station 
wandered away; the engineer stepped upon the locomotive; 
a piercing whistle broke suddenly on the silence settling 
down over the whilom busy precincts, and as the rhythmic 
measure of the engine bell rang farewell chimes, a pyramid 
of sparks leaped high, and the mighty mechanism fled down 
the track, hunting its own echoes. The man in charge of 
the express office came out, looked up and down the street; 
yawned, lighted his pipe, and after locking the office, wended 
his way homeward. 

From the adjoining room came the slow monotonous 
clicking of the telegraph wires, as messages passed to other 
stations, and only the switch watchman was visible, sitting 
on an inverted tub, and playing snatches from “Mascotte” 
and “Olivette” upon a harmonicon. 

Heat seemed radiating from the brick pavement outside, 
from the inner walls of the waiting-room; and Beryl, finding 
the atmosphere almost stifling, went out under the stars. 
Up and down she paced, until weary of the dusty thorough- 
fare, she turned into the street which, earlier in the day, 
had conducted her toward the suburbs. She knew that a full 
moon had climbed above the horizon, and some malign Mor- 
gana lured her on, with visions of cool pine glades paved 
with silver mosaics, and balmy with breath of balsam ; where 
through vast forest naves echoed the melodious monody 
chanted by the reddish gold wavelets of the “branch.” In 
the eastern sky the florid face of a hunter’s moon looked 
down, from the level line of a leaden cloud, which striped 
the star emblazoned shield of night, like a bar sinister; and 
the white lustre of her rays was dimmed to a lurid dulness 
solemn and presageful. 


48 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


As Beryl crossed the common near the station, and en- 
tered the pillared aisles of the pines, the air was less op- 
pressive, but a dun haze seemed on every side to curtain the 
horizon, and the stars looked bleared and tired in the breath- 
less vault above her. A man driving two cows toward town, 
stared at her; then a wagon drawn by four horses rattled 
along, bearing homeward a gay picnic party of young peo- 
ple, who made the woods ring with the echoes of “Hold 
the Fort.” The grandeur of towering pines, the mysterious 
dimness of illimitable arcades, and the peculiar resinous 
odor that stole like lingering ghosts of myrrh, frankincense 
and onycha through the vaulted solitude of a deserted hoary 
sanctuary, all these phases of primeval Southern forests 
combined to weave a spell that the stranger could not resist. 

After a while, fearful of straying too far, the weary 
woman threw her shawl on the brown straw, and sat down 
quite near the road. She leaned her bare head against the 
trunk of a pine, listened to the katydids gossiping in a dis- 
tant oak that shaded the “branch,” to the quavering strident 
song of a locust; and she intended, after resting for a few 
moments, to return to the station-house ; but unexpected 
drowsiness overpowered her. Suddenly aroused from a 
sound sleep, she heard the clatter of galloping hoofs, and 
as she sprang up, the horse, startled by her movement, shied 
and reared within a few feet of the spot where she stood. 
The moon shone full on the glossy black animal, and upon 
his powerful rider, and Beryl recognized the massive head, 
swarthy face and keen eyes of the attorney, Lennox Dunbar. 
He leaned forward and said, as he patted the erect ears of 
his horse: 

“M. dam, you seem a stranger. Have you lost your 
way?” 

“No, sir.” 

“Pardon me; but having seen you this afternoon at ‘Elm 
Bluff,’ I thought it possible you had missed the road.” 

Standing so straight and tall, with the sheen of the moon 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


49 


on her faultless features, he thought she looked the incarna- 
tion of some prescient Norn, fit for the well of Urda. 

She made no reply; and he touched his hat, and rode rap- 
idly away in the direction of the town, carrying an indelible 
impression of the mysterious picture under the pines. 

The sky had changed; the face of the moon had cleared, 
but tatters and scuds of smoke-colored cloud fled northward, 
as if scourged by a stormy current too high to stir the sultry 
stagnation of the lower atmospheric stratum. From its 
vaporous lair somewhere in the cypress and palm jungles of 
the Mexican Gulf borders, the tempest had risen, and before 
its breath the shreds of cloud flew like avant couriers of 
disaster. Already the lurid glare of incessant sheet light- 
ning fought with the moon for supremacy, and from a leaden 
wall along the southeastern sky, came the long reverberating 
growl of thunder, that told where the electric batteries had 
opened fire. A vague foreboding, which for several days 
had haunted Beryl’s mind, now pressed so heavily upon her, 
that she hurried back to the station, which was near the 
edge of the town; and more than once she started nervously 
at sight of grotesque shadows cast by the trees across the 
sandy road. 

The streets were deserted, and lights gleamed only in upper 
windows of apartments, where sick sufferers tossed, or ten- 
der mothers sang soft lullabys to restless babies crooning 
in their cribs. Now and then a sudden gust of wind shook 
the yellow berries from the china trees, that bordered the 
pavements, and very soon the moonshine faded, then flashed 
fitfully, and finally vanished, as the blackening cloud swept 
over the face of earth and sky. The watchman dozed on 
his post of observation; a porter slept on a baggage truck 
under the awning, and as Beryl peeped into the telegraph 
office, she heard the snoring of the operator, whose head 
rested upon the table close to the silent instrument. She 
listened to the ticking of a clock in the ticket office, but 
could not see its face; wondered how late it was, and how 
long she had been absent. Feeling very lonely and restless 


50 AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS^ 

she closed the door, and sat down in the deserted waiting- 
room, glad of the companionship of a tortoise-shell cat which 
was curled up on a chair next her own. 

Gradually the storm approached, and she thought that an 
hour had elapsed, when the dust-tainted smell of rain came 
with the rush of cold air. There was no steady gale, but 
the tempest broke in frantic spasmodic gusts, as though it 
had lost its reckoning, and simultaneously assaulted all the 
points of the compass; while the lightning glared almost 
continuously, and the roar of the thunder was uninterrupted. 
Now and then a vivid zig-zag flash gored the intense dark- 
ness with its baleful blue death-light, followed by a crash, 
appalling as if the battlements of heaven had been shat- 
tered. Once the whole air seemed ablaze, and the simultane- 
ous shock of the detonation was so violent, that Beryl invol- 
untarily sank on her knees, and hid her eyes on a chair. 
The rain fell in torrents, that added a solemn sullen swell 
to the diapason of the thunder fugue, and by degrees a 
delicious coolness crept into the cisterns of the night. 

When the cloud had wept away its fury, and electric fires 
burned low in the far west, a gentle shower droned on the 
roof, and lulled by its cadence Beryl fell asleep, still kneel- 
ing on the floor, with her head resting on the chair where 
the cat lay coiled. 

In dreams, she wandered with her father and brother upon 
a Tuscan hillside draped with purple fruited grape vines, and 
Bertie was crushing a luscious cluster against her thirsty 
lips, when some noise startled her. Wide awake, she sprang 
to her feet, and listened. 

“There ain’t no train till daylight, ’cepting it be the 
through freight.” 

“When is that due?” 

“Pretty soon; it’s mighty nigh time now, but it don’t stop 
here; it goes on to the water tank, whar it blows for the 
railroad bridge.” 

“How far is the bridge?” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


51 


“Only a short piece down the track, after you pass the 
tank.’’ 

Beryl had rushed to the window, and looked out, but no 
one was visible. She could scarcely mistake that peculiar 
voice, and was so assured of its identity, that she ran out 
under the awning and looked up and down the platform in 
front of the station buildings. The rain had ceased, but 
drops still pattered from the tin roof, and a few stars peeped 
over the ragged ravelled edge of slowly drifting clouds. 
By the light of a gas lamp, she saw an old negro man 
limping away, who held a stick over his shoulder, on which 
was slung a bundle wrapped in a red handkerchief; and 
while she stood watching, he vanished in some cul de sac. 
With her basket in her hand, and her shawl on her arm, she 
sped down the track, looking to right and left. 

“Bertie ! Bertie !” 

Once she fancied she discerned a form flying ahead of her, 
leaping from cross tie to cross tie to avoid the water, but 
when she called vehemently, only the sound of her own voice 
broke the silence. 

Was it merely an illusion born of her vivid dream of her 
brother; and while scarcely awake, had she confounded the 
tones of a stranger, with those so long familiar? She could 
not shake off the convictiorf^that Bertie had really spoken 
only a few yards from her, and while she stood irresolute, 
puzzling over the problem, the through freight train dashed 
by the station and left a trail of sparks and cinders. To 
avoid it she sprang on a pile of cross ties beside the track, 
and when the fiery serpent wound out of sight, she reluc- 
tantly retraced her steps. How long the night seemed! 
Would day never dawn again? She heard the telegraph 
operator whistling at his work, and as she re-entered the 
waiting-room, she saw the ticket agent standing in his office. 

“V/hat time is it?” 

“Half-past two o’clock. I might as well have locked up 
as usual, for after all, you did not stay here.” 

“Yes I did.” 


52 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


He eyed her suspiciously. 

“I came back from supper, and brought a pitcher of cold 
tea, thinking you might relish it, but you were not here. I 
waited nearly an hour; then I went home.” 

“It was so hot, I walked about outside. What a frightful 
storm.” 

“Yes, perfectly awful. Were you exposed to the worst 
of it?” 

“No, I was here.” 

He shook his head, smiled, and went into the next room, 
knowing that when he returned to unlock his office she was 
not in the building, and that he had seen her coming up 
the railway track. The bustle of preparation soon began; 
the baggage wagons thundered up to the platform, porters 
called to one another; passengers collected in the waiting- 
room, carriages and omnibuses dashed about; then at 2:50 
the long train of north bound cars swept in. With her shawl 
and basket in one hand, and the odorous bunches of chrysan- 
themums clasped in the other. Beryl stepped upon the plat- 
form. She found a seat at an open window, and made 
herself comfortable; placing her feet upon the basket which 
contained the jewels that constituted her sole earthly for- 
tune. The bell rang, the train glided on, and as it passed 
the office door, she saw the agent watching her, with a 
strangely suspicious expression. 

The cars wound around a curve, and she sank back and 
shut her eyes, rejoicing in the belief that her mission to 
“Elm Bluff,” and its keen humiliation, were forever ended. 


CHAPTER IV. 

“I CONCEDE that point. Your lover is amply endowed with 
brains, and moreover has a vast amount of shrewdness, all 
that is requisite to secure success and eminence in his pro- 
fession; but to-day, it seems as much a matter of astonish- 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


53 


ment to me — as it certainly was six months ago, when first 
you told me of your engagement — that you, Leo Gordon, 
could ever fancy just such a man as Lennox Dunbar.” 

“I am very sorry. Aunt Patty, that he finds no favor in 
your eyes, and I think he is aware of the fact that he is 
not in your good graces. You both look so vaguely uncom- 
fortable when thrown into each other’s presence ; but for my 
sake you must try to like Lennox.” 

Miss Gordon bent her pretty head over a square of ruby 
velvet, whereon she was embroidering a wreath of pansies, 
and the delicate flush on her fair face, deepened to a vivid 
carnation. 

“My likes or dislikes are a matter of moonshine, in com- 
parison with your happiness. Because you are an orphan, I 
feel a sort of responsibility; and sometimes I am not ex- 
actly easy over the account of my stewardship I must render 
to my poor dead Marcia. The more I see of your lover, the 
more I dread your marriage. A man who makes no pro- 
fession of religious belief, is an unsafe guardian of any 
woman’s peace of mind. You who have been reared almost 
in the shadow of the altar, accustomed to hearing grace at 
your meals, to family prayers, to strict observance of our 
ritual, will feel isolated indeed, when transplanted to the 
home of a godless man, who rarely darkens the door of the 
sanctuary. ‘Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbe- 
lievers.’ ” 

Miss Patty Dent took off her spectacles, wiped them with 
the string of her white muslin cap, and adjusting them 
firmly on her nose, plucked nervously at the fluted lace 
ruffles around her wrists. 

“Auntie, you are scarcely warranted in using such strong 
language. Because a man refrains from the public avowal 
of faith, incident to church membership, he is not necessarily 
godless; nor inevitably devoid of true religious feeling. Mr. 
Dunbar has a strong, reticent nature, habituated to repres- 
sion of all evidences of emotion, but of the depth and ear- 
nestness of his real feeling, I entertain no doubt.” 


54 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


“I fear your line and plummet will never sound his depth. 
You often speak of his strength; but, Leo, hardness is not 
always strength; and he is hard, hard. I never saw a man 
with a chin like his, who was not tyrannical, and idolatrous 
of his own will. My dear, such men are as uncomfortable 
to live in the same house with, as a smoky chimney, or a 
woman with shattered nerves, or creaking doors, or draughty 
windows. They are a sort of everlasting east wind that 
never veers, blowing always to the one point, attainment of 
their own ends, mildewing all else. Ugh !” 

Miss Patty shivered, and her companion smiled. 

“What a grewsome picture. Auntie dear ! Fortunately 
human taste is as diverse and catholic as the variety of hu- 
man countenances. For example: Clara Morse raves over 
Mr. Dunbar’s ‘clear-cut features, so immensely classical’; 
and she pronounces his offending ‘chin simply perfect! fit 
for a Greek God 1’ ” 

“A very thin and gauzy partition divides Clara Morse’s 
brains from idiocy. In my day, all such feeble watery minds 
as hers were regarded as semi-imbecile, pitied as intellectual 
cripples, and wisely kept in the background of society; but, 
bless me ! in this generation they skip and prance to the very 
edge of the front, pose in indecent garments without starch, 
or crinoline, or even the protection of pleats and gathers; 
and insult good, sound, wholesome common sense with the 
sickening affectations they are pleased to call ‘aesthetics.’ 
Don’t waste your time, and dilute your own mind by quoting 
the silly twaddle of a poor girl who was turned loose too 
early on society, who falls on her knees in ecstasies before 
a hideous broken-nose tea-pot from some filthy hovel in 
Japan; and who would not dare to admire the loveliest bit of 
Oiron pottery, or precious old Chelsea claret-colored china 
in Kensington Museum, until she had turned it upside down, 
and hunted the potter’s mark with a microscope. I say Mr. 
Dunbar has a domineering and tyrannical chin, and five 
years hence, if you do not agree with me, it will be because 
‘Ephraim is joined to his idols’ — clay feet and all.” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


55 


“Then follow the Bible injunction to ‘let him alone/ I 
see Lennox through neither Clara’s rosy lenses, nor your 
jaundiced glasses; and these circular discussions are as fruit- 
less as they are unpleasant. Let us select some more agree- 
able topic. I gave you Leighton’s letter. What think you 
of his scheme?” 

“That it is admirable, worthy of the brain that conceived 
it. What a wonderful man he is, considering his age ? Such 
a devout and fervent spirit, and withal such a marvel of 
executive ability. Ah ! happy the woman who can command 
his wise guardianship, and renew her aspirations after holi- 
ness, in his spiritual society. I honor, even more than I 
love, Leighton Douglass.” 

“So do I, Aunt Patty. He is quite my ideal pastor, and 
when he marries, I hope his wife will be worthy of him in 
every respect. Only a very noble woman would suit my 
cousin.” 

A bright spot burned on Miss Dent’s wrinkled cheek, and 
she knitted her brows, and shook her head. 

“He is so absorbed in his holy work that he has no 
leisure for such trifles as love-making; but if he should ever 
honor a woman by the offer of his consecrated hand, it must 
be one of large fortune, who will dedicate herself and her 
money to the accomplishment of his ecclesiastical schemes.” 

The corners of Miss Gordon’s mouth twitched mutinously, 
but she contrived to throw much innocent surprise and ques- 
tioning into the handsome brown eyes, which she lifted from 
her gold-hearted pansies, to her Aunt’s face. 

“Could you possibly associate mercenary motives with any 
step which he might take? Such a supposition would be 
totally incompatible with my estimate of his character.” 

“When a man dedicates himself to a solemn mission, he 
is lifted far above the ordinary plane, can dispense with 
sentimental conventionalities, and must learn to regard all 
human relations as merely means to an end. Want of 
money has palsied many an arm lifted to advance the good 
of the Church ; and zeal without funds, accomplishes as little 


5 ^ 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


as rusty machinery stiff from lack of oil. If Dr. Douglass 
could only control even a hundred thousand dollars, what 
shining monuments he would leave to immortalize him ! In- 
deed, it passes my comprehension how persons who could so 
easily help him, deliberately turn a deaf ear to the ‘cry from 
Macedonia’.” 

“There is far more eclat in trips to Macedonia, but the 
God of recompense does not forget the steady, tireless help 
and sympathy extended to the needy, who dwell within sight 
of our own doors. Organized society work is good, but 
individual self-sacrifice and labor are much better; and if 
every unit did full duty, co-operative systems would not be 
so necessary ; still, Leighton’s scheme commends itself to 
every woman’s heart, and when I answered his letter, I ex- 
pressed cordially my approbation.” 

“Did you prove your faith by your works, and send him 
a large check?” 

“Auntie, dear, do you expect me to stultify all your train- 
ing, both your example and precept- — for lo ! these many 
years — by setting my left hand to gossip about my right? 
I am very sure.” 

“Well, Andrew, what is it?” 

“A boy from Mr. Dunbar’s office has just galloped up, 
and says I am to tell you he can’t ride to the Falls to-day, as 
he expected, because of some pressing business; and he 
wants to know if the Judge will come into town right away? 
Mr. Dunbar will explain when he comes late this evening.” 

“Very well. Tell Daniel I shall not want ‘Rebel’ saddled; 
and say to the messenger that my Uncle is not at home. 
Aunt Patty, do you know where he has gone?” 

“Doubtless to his office; where else should he be? He 
said he had a pile of tiresome papers to examine to-day.” 

Miss Gordon folded up her work, laid it away in a dainty 
basket lined with blue satin and flounced with lace; and 
after pausing a moment to pet her Aunt’s white Maltese cat 
which lay dozing in the sunshine, walked away toward a 
small hot-house, built quite near the dining-room, and con- 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


57 

nected with it by an arcade, covered in summer by vines, 
in winter by glass. 

Twenty-four years before that day, when a proud, fond 
young mother puffed and tucked the marvel of lace and 
linen cambric, which was intended as a christening robe for 
her baby, and laid it away with spicery of rose leaves and 
sachet of lavender and deer tongue, to wait until a “fur- 
lough” allowed the child’s father to be present at the 
baptism, she had supposed that its delicate folds would one 
day adorn a dimpled rosy-faced infant, for whom the name 
Aurelia Gordon had long been selected. Fate cruelly vetoed 
all the details of the programme, carefully arranged by 
maternal affection; and the lurid sun that set in clouds of 
smoke on one of the most desperate battles of the Con- 
federacy, saw Colonel Gordon’s brave, patriotic soul released 
on that long “furlough” which glory granted her heroes; 
saw his devoted wife a wailing widow. The red burial of 
battle had precluded the solemnization of baptismal rites at 
the sacred marble font; and when four days after Colonel 
Gordon’s death, his frail young wife welcomed the sum- 
mons to an everlasting re-union, she laid her cold hands on 
her baby’s golden head, and died, as she whispered: 

“Name her Leo, for her father.” 

So it came to pass, that the clergyman who read the 
burial service beside the mother’s coffin, lifted the cooing 
infant in the midst of a weeping funeral throng, and with 
a faltering voice baptized her, in the presence of the dead, 
Leo Gordon. 

To the care of her sister Patty, and of her widowed 
brother. Judge Dent, Mrs. Gordon had consigned her child; 
and transplanted so early to her uncle’s house, the orphan 
knew no other home. 

When the problem of vast numerical preponderance had 
solved itself in accordance with the rules of avoirdupois, and 
history — fond like all garrulous old crones of repeating even 
her inglorious episodes — had triumphantly inscribed on her 
bloody tablets, that once more the Few were throttled and 


58 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


trampled by the Many, then the fabled “Ragnardk” of the 
Sagas described only approximately the doom of the de- 
vastated South. In the financial and social chaos that fol- 
lowed the invasion by “loyal” hordes, rushing under “sealed 
orders” on the mission of “Reconstruction,” and eminently 
successful in “reconstructing” their individual fortunes, an 
anomaly presented itself for the consideration of political 
economists. The wealthy classes of ante helium days were 
the most destitute paupers that the newly-risen Union sun 
shone upon. 

The French Revolution and its subsequent eruptions of 
Communism failed to destroy the value of land; and the 
emancipation of Russian serfs may have stimulated agri- 
cultural activity, but that political and social Communism 
which the Pandora of “reconstruction” let loose throughout 
the conquered States of the South, accomplished all that the 
victors could have desired. 

Abandoned by the laborers God had fitted to endure toil 
under climatic conditions peculiar to the soil, vast silent 
fields of weeds stared blankly, and the richer a man found 
himself in ancestral acres, the more hopelessly was he man- 
acled by taxes. “Reconstructionists” most thoroughly inocu- 
lated with “Loyal” rabies, held in lofty disdain the claims 
of widows and orphans, and the right of minors was as dead 
as that of secession. In the general maelstrom. Colonel 
Gordon’s large estate went to pieces; but after a time. 
Judge Dent took lessons from his new political masters in 
the science of wrecking, and by degrees, as fragments and 
shreds stranded, he collected and secreted them. Certain 
mining interests were protected, and some valuable planta- 
tions in distant sugar belts, were secured. As guardian of 
his sister’s daughter, he changed, or renewed investments 
in stocks which rapidly increased in value, until an unu- 
sually large fortune had accumulated; and verifying figures 
justified his boast, that his niece and ward was the wealthi- 
est heiress in the State. 

Reared in a household which consisted of an elderly uncle 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


59 


and aunt, and a middle-aged governess, Leo Gordon had 
never known intimate association with younger people; and 
while her nature was gentle and tranquil, she gradually 
imbibed the grave and rather prim ideas which were in 
vogue when Miss Patty was the reigning belle of her county. 
Although petted and indulged, she had not been spoiled, and 
remained singularly free from the selfishness usually de- 
veloped in the character of an only child, nurtured in the 
midst of mature relatives. When eighteen years old, Leo, 
accompanied by her governess, Mrs. Eldridge, had been sent 
to New York and Boston for educational advantages, which 
it was supposed that her own section of the country could 
not supply; and subsequently the two went abroad, gleaning 
knowledge in the great centres of European Art. During 
their sojourn in Munich, Mrs. Eldridge died after a very 
brief illness ; and returning to her southern home, Leo 
found herself the object of social homage. 

Thoroughly well-bred, accomplished, graceful and pretty, 
she commanded universal admiration; yet her manner was 
marked by a quiet, grave dignity, and a peculiar reticence, 
at variance with the prevailing type of young ladyhood, now 
alas ! too dominant ; whose premature emancipation from 
home rule, and old-fashioned canons of decorum renders 
“American girlhood” synonymous with flippant pertness. 
Moulded by two women who were imbued with the spirit 
of Richter’s admonition: “Girls like the priestesses of old, 
should be educated only in sacred places, and never hear, 
much less see, what is rude, immoral or violent”; the pate 
tendre of Leo’s character showed unmistakably the potter’s 
marks. 

She shrewdly surmised that the knowledge of her unusual 
wealth contributed to swell the number of her suitors, and 
she was twenty-four years old when Lennox Dunbar, for 
whom she had long secretly cherished a partiality, succeeded 
in placing his ring on her fair, slender hand. In character 
they differed widely, and the deep and tender love that filled 
her heart, found only a faint echo in his cold and more 


6o 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


selfish nature, which had carefully calculated all the ad- 
vantages derivable from this alliance. 

He cordially admired and esteemed his brown-eyed fair- 
haired Hancee, considered her the personification of feminine 
refinement and delicacy; and congratulated himself warmly 
on his great good fortune in winning her affection; but 
tender emotions found little scope for exercise in his in- 
tensely practical, busy life, which was devoted to the attain- 
ment of eminence in his profession; and the merely dynamic 
apparatus which did duty as his heart, had never been dis- 
turbed by any feeling sufficiently deep to quicken his calm, 
steady pulse. 

There were times, when Leo wondered whether all ac- 
cepted lovers were as undemonstrative as her own, and she 
would have been happier had he occasionally forgotten pro- 
fessional aspirations, in the charm of her presence; but her 
confidence in the purity and fidelity of his affection was 
unshaken, even by the dismal predictions of Miss Patty, who 
found it impossible to reconcile herself to the failure of her 
darling scheme, that Leo should marry her second cousin, 
Leighton Douglass, D.D., and devote her fortune to the 
advancement of his church. 

To-day, as she sought pleasant work in arranging the 
ferns and carnations of her conservatory, her thoughts re- 
verted to the previous evening, which Mr. Dunbar had spent 
with her; and she could not avoid indulging regret, that 
he should have allowed business affairs to interfere with 
their engagement for horseback riding, but her reverie was 
speedily interrupted by the excited tones of her aunt’s voice. 

“Leo ! Leo ! Where do you hide yourself ?” 

“Here, Auntie, in the conservatory.” 

“Oh ! my child, such dreadful news ! Such a frightful 
tragedy !” 

Pale and panting, Miss Patty ran down the arcade, and 
stumbled over a barricade of potted plants on the threshold 
of the door. 

“What is the matter? Is it my Uncle, or — or Lennox?” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


6i 


Leo sprang to her feet, and caught her aunt’s arm. 

“Horrible ! horrible ! General Barrington was robbed, and 
then most brutally murdered last night !” 

“Murdered! Can it be possible? Murdered — by whom?” 

“How should I know? The whole town is wild about it. 
My brother is at Elm Bluff, with the body, and I shall take 
the carriage and drive over there at once. Dear me; I am 
so nervous I can’t stand still, and my teeth chatter like a 
pair of castanets.” 

“Perhaps there may be some mistake. How did you hear 
it?” 

“Your Uncle Mitchell sent a boy to tell me why he was 
detained. There has been a coroner’s inquest, and of course, 
as an old and intimate friend of General Barrington’s, 
Mitchell feels he must do all he can. Poor old gentleman ! 
So proud and aristocratic I To be murdered in his own 
house, like any common pauper ! Positively it makes me 
sick. May the Lord have mercy on his soul.” 

“Amen!” murmured Leo. 

“Will you go with me to Elm Bluff?” 

“Oh, no ! Not for worlds. Why should I ? Women will 
only be in the way; and who could desire to contemplate so 
horrible a spectacle? It will merely harrow your feelings. 
Aunt Patty, and you can do no good.” 

“It is my Christian duty as a neighbor; and I was always 
very fond of the first Mrs. Barrington, Helena Tracey. 
What is this wicked world coming to? Robbery and mur- 
der stalking bare-faced through the land. It will be a 
dreadful blow to Mitchell, because he and Luke Barrington 
have been intimate all their lives. I see the carriage coming 
round, so I must get my bonnet and wrap.” 

“I presume Mr. Dunbar is engaged in the same melan- 
choly details which occupy my uncle.” 

“Doubtless he is, because his father was General Bar- 
rington’s attorney until his health failed ; and Lennox is now 
his lawyer and business agent. It is a thousand pities that 
Prince is away in Europe.” 


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Two hours after the carriage had disappeared on the road 
leading to Elm Bluff, Leo crossed the grassy lawn, and sat 
down near the gate, on a rustic bench under a cluster of tall 
lilacs, which gave their name to her uncle’s home. 

A keen north wind whistling through neighboring walnut 
tree tops, drove the dying leaves like frightened flocks before 
it, and ever and anon the ripened nuts pattered down, hiding 
themselves under the drift of yellow foliage, that had 
sheltered them in cool greenery during summer heats. Over- 
head a red squirrel barked and frisked, and across the pale- 
blue sky, feathered nomads, teal or mallard, moved swiftly 
en echelon, their quivering 'pinions flashing like silver, as 
they fled southward. On a distant hillside cattle browsed, 
and sheep wandered; and the drowsy tinkle of bells, as the 
herd wended homeward, seemed a nocturne of rest, for the 
closing day. 

How serene, harmonious and holy all nature appeared; 
and yet a few miles distant, into what a fierce seething 
whirlpool of conflicting passions, of hatred and bloodthirsty 
vengeance, had human crime plunged an entire community. 
We plume ourselves upon nineteenth century civilization, 
upon ethical advancement, upon Christian progress ; we 
adorn our cathedrals, build temples for art treasures, and 
museums for science, and listen to preludes of the “music 
of the future;” and we shudder at the mention of vice, as 
at the remembrance of the tortures of Regulus, but will the 
Cain type ever become extinct, like the dodo, or the ichthyo- 
saurus ? When will the laws of heredity, and the by-laws of 
agnation result in an altruism, where human bloodshed is 
an unknown horror? 

The apostles of Evolution tell us, that in the genealogical 
ages during which man has struggled upward, from the 
lower stages of vertebrate and mammal to the genus of 
catarrhine apes, he has gradually thrown off bestial instincts, 
and that the tiger taint will ultimately be totally eliminated; 
that “original sin is neither more nor less than the brute 
inheritance which every man carries with him, and that 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


63 


Evolution is an advance toward true salvation.” Meanwhile 
what becomes of the “Survival of the Fittest”, which is only 
a euphemism for the strangling of the feeble by the strong? 
We can understand how perfection, or permanence of type, 
individual and national, demands carnage, and entails all the 
dire catalogue of human woes, but wherein is altruism 
evolved? How many aeons shall we wait, to behold the 
leopard and the lamb pasturing together in peace? 

Pondering this problem, as he rode along the public road 
outside the boundary of Judge Dent’s lawn, Mr. Dunbar 
caught a glimpse of his betrothed, sitting behind the hedge 
of lilacs, and he lifted his hat, hoping that she would meet 
him at the entrance; but although she bowed in recognition, 
he was forced to open the gate and admit himself. Throw- 
ing the bridle rein over one of the iron spikes of the fence, 
and taking off his gloves, he approached the bench. 

“Dare I flatter myself, that my queen deigns to meet me 
half way?” 

He took her outstretched hand, and kissed it softly, while 
his glance noted every detail of her handsome fawn-colored 
dress, with its jabot of creamy lace, and the cluster of 
crimson carnations in her belt. The touch of his lips on 
her fingers, deepened the flush in her cheeks, and, making 
room for him beside her, she replied: 

“Sit down, and tell me if this dreadful news about Gen- 
eral Darrington be indeed true? I have hoped there might 
be some mistake, some exaggeration.” 

“Some horrors exceed the possibility of verbal exaggera- 
tion, and last night’s tragedy is one of that class. General 
Darrington was most brutally murdered.” 

“Poor old gentleman ! How incredible it seems that such 
awful crimes can be committed in our quiet neighborhood? 
Who could have been so guilty ; and what motive could have 
prompted such a fiendish act?” 

“The one all-powerful evil passion of mankind — greed of 
gold; lust of filthy lucre. He was first robbed, then mur- 
dered by the thief, to avoid detection and punishment. There 


64 


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is unmistakable evidence that the General was chloroformed 
while asleep; but he must have awakened in time to dis- 
cover the robber, with whom he struggled desperately, and 
by whom he was struck down. The coroner’s inquest devel- 
oped some startling facts.” 

“Has any clue been discovered which would indicate the 
murderer ?” 

“A handful of clues.” 

“Then you have a theory concerning the person who 
perpetrated this awful crime?” 

“My dear Leo, not a theory, but a conviction; I might 
almost say an absolute knowledge.” 

“Would it be pardonable for me to ask whom you suspect ; 
would it be a violation of professional etiquette for you to 
tell me?” 

“Certainly, my dearest, you can ask me anything, only — ” 
he paused a moment; and she put her hand quickly on his 
arm. 

“I see. Do not tell me mere suspicions; they might 
cruelly wrong an innocent person; and I ought not to have 
asked the question.” 

“My hesitation arose from a totally different source, and 
I was merely wondering whether you, my sweet saint, could 
believe that a woman committed the bloody deed.” 

“Oh, Mr. Dunbar, impossible ! A woman guilty of taking 
that old man’s life? The supposition is as horrible as the 
crime itself.” 

Passing his hand lightly over her crimped fair hair, and 
looking down into her eyes, as brown as the back of a 
thrush, her lover replied: 

“I find that the nobler and purer a woman’s heart is, the 
less she credits the existence of vice and the possibility of 
crime among her own sex. You doubtless consider the 
Brinvilliers, Fredegonds, Fulvias and Faustinas, quite as 
fabulous as Centaurs, Sirens and Were-wolves; and I feel 
as reluctant to shake your fair faith in womanhood, as to 
dash the dew from a rose-bud, or rudely brush the bloom 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


65 


from a cluster of tempting grapes; but the grim truth must 
be told, that our old friend was robbed and murdered by a 
woman.'’ 

“One of his servants? They all seemed devotedly at- 
tached to him.” 

“No, by his granddaughter, a young and very beautiful 
woman; Beryl Brentano, the child of General Barrington’s 
daughter Ellice, whom he had disowned on account of her 
wretched marriage with a foreigner, who taught her music 
and the languages. Of course you have heard from your 
aunt and uncle all the details of that family episode. Yes- 
terday this girl Beryl suddenly presented herself at Elm 
Bluff, and demanded money from her grandfather; alleging 
that her mother’s life was in danger for want of it. I 
learn there was a stormy interview, part of the conversation 
having been overheard by two persons; and the General, 
who was as vindictive as a Modoc, or a Cossack, drove 
the young lady through a door leading down to the 
rosery. This occurred in the afternoon, immediately after I 
left Elm Bluff, where I went to obtain his signature to 
a deed to some lands recently sold in Texas. I saw the 
girl sitting on the front steps, and when she rose and looked 
at me, her superb physique impressed me powerfully. She 
is as beautiful and stately as some goddess stepping out of 
the Norse ‘Edda’, and altogether a remarkable looking per- 
son. It will appear in evidence, that the General harshly 
refused her pleadings, and made a point of assuring her 
that his will, already prepared, would forever debar her 
mother and herself from any inheritance at his death; as 
i:e had bequeathed his entire estate to his adopted son Prince. 
Unfortunately, she learned where the will was kept, as dur- 
ing the interview, persons in the next room distinctly heard 
the peculiar noise made by the sliding door of the iron vault, 
where General Barrington kept all his valuable papers. She 
disappeared from Elm Bluff about sunset, going toward 
town; and last night at ten o’clock, when I left you and 
rode home, I saw her lurking in the pine woods npt very far 


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from the bridge over the branch, near the park gate. She 
was evidently hiding, as she sat on the ground half screened 
by a tree; but my horse shied and plunged badly, and when 
she rose, the full moon showed her face and figure distinctly. 
There was something so mysterious in her movements, that 
I asked her if she had lost her way; to which she curtly 
replied that she had not. I learn from Burk, the station 
agent, that her actions aroused his suspicion, and that in- 
stead of leaving town, as she said she intended, by the 7:15 
train, she hung about the station, and finally took the 3 105 
express this morning. He said she had begged permission 
to stay in the waiting-room, but that at 2:30 a.m., when he 
went back to open the ticket office, she was nowhere to be 
found; and that later, he saw her coming down the railroad 
track. She must have gone back to Elm Bluff after I passed 
her on the road, and effected an entrance through the win- 
dow on the front piazza, as it was found open; and the 
awful work of robbery and murder was accomplished during 
the storm, which you know was so frightful that it drowned 
all minor sounds. This morning when the General did not 
ring for his hot water at the usual time, it was supposed 
that he was sleeping late, but finally old Bedney knocked. 
Unable to arouse his master, he opened the door, and found 
our old friend lying on the floor, near the fireplace. He 
had been dead for hours, and close to his head was a heavy 
brass andiron, which evidently had been snatched from the 
hearth by the murderess, who must have dealt the fatal blow 
with it, as there was a dark spot on his temple, and also 
on the left side near the heart. The room was in disorder, 
and two glass vases on the mantel were shivered, as though 
some missile had struck them — ^probably a heavy ledger 
which was found on the floor.” 

“How horrible! But no woman could have overpowered 
a man like General Barrington.” 

“Physically, his granddaughter was more than a match 
for him, especially since his last illness; and I assiu-e you 
she looks Hke some daughter of the Vikings. She certainly 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 67 

is a woman of grand proportions, and wonderfully sym- 
metrical.” 

“What is her age?” 

“About eighteen, I should think; though her size and a 
certain majestic bearing might convey the impression that 
she was older.” 

“How can you connect so dreadful a crime with a young 
and beautiful woman, of whom you know absolutely noth- 
ing?” 

“My theory is, that she intended merely to get possession 
of the will, the contents of which had been made known to 
her — and of the money, that she knew or surmised was kept 
in the vault. When the effect of the chloroform wore off, 
and the General waked to find her at the vault; a struggle 
evidently took place, and in desperation at the thought of 
being detected, she killed him. You do not understand all 
the bearings of even slight circumstances in a case like this, 
but we who make a study of such sad matters, know the 
significance of the disappearance of the will; the destruction 
of which could benefit only her mother and herself. The vault 
was open; the gold, silver, some valuable jewelry, and the 
will are missing from the tin box. All the other papers were 
left, even a package of bonds, amounting to thousands of 
dollars. She seemed to know that the bonds might lead to 
detection, hence she did not take them. On the floor, and 
in the bottom of the tin box were found two twenty-dollar 
gold pieces. We are collecting all the evidence, and it con- 
stitutes a powerful array of proof.” 

“We ? Do you mean that you are hunting down a 
woman ?” 

Miss Gordon withdrew her hand from her lover’s, and 
instinctively moved farther from him. 

“I am most diligently hunting down the author of a foul 
and awful crime ; and it is my duty to my friend and client 
to use every possible exertion, in discovering and bringing 
to punishment the person who robbed and murdered him — 
be it man, woman or child. Feminine youth and beauty are 


68 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


no aegis against the barbed javelins of justice and the Dis* 
trict Solicitor (Mr. Churchill) and I, have no doubt of the 
guilt of the woman, who will soon be put on trial here for 
her monstrous and unnatural crime.” 


CHAPTER V. 

In a deep, narrow “railway cut,” through Virginia hills, 
a south-bound freight train had been so badly wrecked in 
consequence of a “washout,” that the southern passenger 
express going north was detained fourteen hours; thereby 
missing connection at Washington City, where the passengers 
were again delayed nearly twelve hours. Tired and very 
hungry, having eaten nothing but a sandwich and a cup of 
coffee for three days, Beryl felt profoundly thankful when 
the cars rolled into Jersey City. In the bustle and con- 
fusion incident to arrival in that Babel, she did not observe 
the scrutiny to which she was subjected by a man genteelly 
dressed, who gave her his hand as she stepped down from 
the train, and kept by her side while she hastened in the 
direction of the ferry. 

Reaching the slip where the boat awaited passengers, she 
was vexed to see it backing out into the stream, and leaned 
against the chain which barred egress until the next trip. 

“You have only five minutes to wait for the boat. You 
seem to have had a long and trying journey, madam?” 

Glancing at him for the first time, Beryl ‘ perceived that 
he held a slip of yellow paper from which he looked now 
and then to her face. His features were coarse and heavy, 
but his eyes were keen as a ferret’s; and without answering 
his question, she turned away and looked across the water 
which teemed with craft of every description, laden with 
freight animate and inanimate, passing to and from the vast 
city, whose spires, domes and forest of masts rose like a 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 69 

gray cloud against the sky, etching there their leaden out- 
lines. 

“You live at No. — West Street, between 8th and 

9th Avenue?” 

“You are a stranger, and your questions are offensive and 
impertinent.” 

As she turned and confronted him haughtily, he stepped 
closer to her, threw back his blue overcoat, and pointed to 
the metal badge on his breast. 

“I am an officer of the law, and have a warrant for your 
arrest. You are Beryl Brentano.” 

“I am Beryl Brentano, yes; but there is some blunder, 
some mistake. How dare you annoy me ? Arrest me ? 
Me !” 

“Do not make a scene. My instructions are to deal with 
you as gently as possible. Better come quietly into the 
station near, and I will read you the warrant, otherwise I 
shall be obliged to use force. You see I have two assistants 
yonder.” 

“Arrested for what? By whom?” 

“I am ordered to arrest you for the murder of General 
Darrington.” 

“Murder ! General Darrington is alive and well. I have 
just left him. Stand back! Do not touch me. I will call 
on the police to protect me.” 

Laying his fingers firmly on her arm, he beckoned to two 
men clad in police uniform, who promptly approached. 

“You see resistance is worse than useless, and since there 
is no escape, come quietly.” 

“You are insulting me, under some frightful mistake. I 
am. a lady. Do I look like a criminal?” 

“General Darrington has been robbed and murdered, and 
I have telegraphic orders to arrest and hold a woman named 
Beryl Brentano, who corresponds in every respect with the 
description of the person suspected of having committed the 
crime.” 

Hitherto she had attributed the insult of the interview to 


70 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


some question of mistaken identity, but as she slowly com- 
prehended the possibility that she was the person accused, 
and intended for arrest, a sickening horror seized and almost 
paralyzed her, blanching her face and turning her to stone. 
As he led her along the street, she staggered from the 
numbness that possessed her, and her eyes stared blankly, 
like those of a somnambulist. When she had been ushered 
into a room where several policemen were lounging and 
smoking, the intolerable sense of shame and indignation 
shook off her apathy. 

“This is a cruel and outrageous wrong, and only base 
cowards could wantonly insult an unprotected and innocent 
woman. You call yourselves men? Have you no mothers, 
no sisters, whose memory can arouse some reverence, some 
respect for womanhood in your brutal souls?’’ 

Electric lamps set in the sockets of some marble face, 
might perhaps resemble the blaze that leaped up in her eyes, 
as she wrenched her arm from the officer’s profaning touch, 
and her voice rang like the clash of steel. 

“Madam, we are allowed no discretion; we are only the 
blind and deaf machines that obey orders. Read the war- 
rant, and you will understand that our duty is imperative.” 

Again and again she read the paper, in which the sheriff 
of the county where Elm Bluff is situated, demanded her 

arrest and return to X , on the charge of robbery and 

murder committed during the night which she had spent at 
the station. Then several telegrams were placed before her. 
The description of herself, her dress, even of the little basket 
and shawl, was minutely accurate ; and by degrees the horror 
of her situation, and her utter helplessness, became fright- 
fully distinct. The papers fell from her nerveless fingers, 
,ind one desperate cry broke from her white lips: 

“O just God! Will you permit such a shameful, cruel 
outrage? Save me from this horrible injustice and dis- 
grace 1” 

Seeing neither the men, nor the room, her strained gaze 
seemed in her great agony fixed upon the face of Him, who. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


71 


silvering the lilies of the field and watching the flight of 
sparrows, has tender care for all who trust Him. Even in 
this terrible trial, the girl’s first thought was of her mother; 
and of the disastrous effect that the misfortune would pro- 
duce upon the invalid. 

“I am sorry to tell you, that we are required to search 
all persons arrested under similar charges, and in the next 
room a female detective will receive and retain every thing 
in your possession, except your clothing. You are suspected 
of having secreted money, jewelry and some very valuable 
papers.” 

“Suspected of being a common thief! I am as innocent 
as any angel beside the throne of Christ! Save me at least 
from the degradation of being searched. Here is my basket, 
and here is my purse.” 

She handed him the worn leather pocket-book, which 
contained only the few pennies reserved to pay her passage 
across the ferry, and turned the pocket of her dress inside 
out. 

At the tap of a hand-bell, a tall, angular woman opened 
the door of an adjoining room. 

“Mrs. Foster, you will very carefully examine the pris- 
oner, and search her clothing for papers, as well as valua- 
bles.” 

“Spare me at least this indignity!” cried the shuddering 
girl. 

“Come with me, madam. We have no choice.” 

When the door closed behind her, the constable walked 
up and down the floor. 

“How deceitful appearances are! That woman looks as 
pure and innocent as an angel, and I half believed her pro- 
testations; but here in the basket, sure enough, hidden at 
the bottom, are the jewelry and the gold. No sign of the 
papers, but she may have destroyed them. 

“Thief or not, she is a grand beauty ; and if her heart was 
not in that prayer she put up just now, she is a grand 
actress also. This is a beastly trade of ours, hunting down 


72 


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and trapping the unwary. Sometimes I feel no better than 
a sleuth-hound, and that girl’s eyes went through and 
through me a while ago like a two-edged dirk.” 

As he vented his views of his profession, one of the po- 
licemen lighted his pipe and puffed vigorously. 

Mrs. Foster came back, followed by her victim. 

“I find absolutely nothing secreted on the prisoner.” 

“No papers of any description?” 

“None, sir.” 

“Madam, your basket contains the missing jewelry and 
money, at least a portion of it, and I shall place it in the 
hands of the sheriff.” 

“The money and jewels are not mine. They belong to my 
mother, to whom they were given by her father; and she 
needs the money at this moment — ” 

“Let me advise you to say as little as possible for your 
own sake ; because your words will be weighed against you.” 

“I speak only the truth, and it will, it must, vindicate 
me. What papers are you searching for?” 

“General Barrington’s will. It was stolen with the 
money. Here is yesterday’s paper, with an account of the 

whole affair, telegraphed from X . If you need to 

learn anything, you will understand when you read it.” 

The sight of the capital letters in the Telegraphic Des- 
patches, coupling her name with a heinous and revolting 
crime, seemed to stab her eyes with red-hot thrusts; and 
shivering from head to foot, she slowly realized the sus- 
picious significance of the disappearance of the will, which 
was the sole obstacle that debarred her from her grand- 
father’s wealth. Although sustained by an unfaltering trust 
in the omnipotence of innocence, she was tormented by a 
dread spectre that would not “down” at her bidding; how 
could she prove that the money and jewels had been given 
to her? Would the shock of the tidings of her arrest kill 
her mother? Was there any possible way by which she 
might be kept in ignorance of this foul disgrace? 

Beryl hid her face in her hands, and tried to think, but 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


73 


the whole universe appeared spinning into chaos. She had 
opposed the trip South so steadily and vehemently; had so 
sorrowfully and reluctantly yielded at last to maternal so- 
licitation, and had been oppressed with such dire forebodings 
of some resultant evil. So bitter was her repugnance to 
the application to her grandfather, that she had set out on 
her journey feeling as though it were a challenge to fate; 
and this was the answer? The vague distrust, the subtle 
sombre presentiment, the haunting shadow of an inexplicable 
ill, had all meant this; this bloody horror, dragging her 
fair name down to the loathsome mire of the slums of crime. 
Had some merciful angel leaned from the parapets of heaven 
and warned her; or did her father’s spirit, in mysterious 
communion of deathless love and prescient guardianship, 
stir her soul to oppose her mother’s scheme? Sceptical and 
heedless Tarquins are we all, whom our patient Sibylline 
intuitions finally abandon to the woes which they sought to 
avert. 

In the maddening rush and whirl of Beryl’s reflections, her 
mother’s image was the one centre arownd which all things 
circled; and at length, rallying her energies, she turned to 
her captor. 

“You intend to take me to prison?” 

“I am obliged to detain and deliver you to the officer who 

has come from X with the warrant, and who will carry 

you back there for trial. He knew from the detentions along 
the route, that he could easily overhaul you here, so he went 
straight to Trenton with a requisition from the Governor of 
his State upon Governor Mansfield, for your surrender. It 
is but a short run to the Capital, and he expects to get here 
in time to catch the train going South to-day. We had 
a telegram a while ago, saying the papers were all right, 
and that he would meet us at the train, as there will be only 
a few moments to spare.” 

“But I must first see my mother. I must give her the 
money and explain — ” 


74 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


‘The money will be claimed by the officer who takes 
charge of you.” 

“Have you no mercy? My mother is ill, destitute; and 
she will die unless I can go to her. Oh ! I beg of you, for 
the sake of common humanity, carry me home, if only for 
five minutes ! Just let me see mother, let me speak to her !” 

In the intensity of her dread, she fell upon her knees, and 
lifted her hands imploringly; and the anguish in her white 
quivering face was so piteous that the man turned his head 
away. 

“I would oblige you if I could, but it is impossible. The 
law is cruel, as you say, but it is intended as a terror to 
evil-doers. Things look awfully black for you, but all the 
same I am sorry for you, if your mother is to suffer for your 
deeds. If you wish to write to her, I will see that she re- 
ceives your note; but you have very little time left.” 

“O Gk)d ! how hard ! What a foul, horrible wrong inflicted 
upon the innocent !” 

She cowered on the floor, unconscious that she still knelt; 
seeing only the suffering woman in that dreary attic across 
the river, where sunken feverish eyes watched for her re- 
turn. 

Accidentally Beryl’s gaze fell on the bunch of faded 
chrysanthemums which had dropped unnoticed on the floor, 
and snatching them she buried her face in their petals. 
Their perfume was the potent spell that now melted her to 
tears, and the tension of her overtaxed nerves gave way in 
a passionate burst of sobs. When she rose a few moments 
later, the storm had passed; the face regained its stony 
rigidity, and henceforth she fronted fate with an unnatural 
calmness. 

“Will you give me some paper and a pen?” 

“You can write here at the desk.” 

Mrs. Foster approached her, and said hesitatingly: 

“Would it comfort you at all, for me to go and see your 
mother and explain why you could not return to her ? I am 
very sorry for you, poor thing.” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


75 


“Thank you, but — you could not explain, and the sight of 
a stranger would startle her. In one way you can help me; 
do you know Dr. Grantlin of New York?” 

“Only by reputation; but I can find him.” 

“Will you deliver into his hand the note I am writing?” 

“I certainly will.” 

“How soon?” 

“Before nine o’clock to-night.” 

“Thank you — a thousand times.” 

After a while she folded a sheet containing these words : 
“Dear Dr. Grantlin: 

“In the extremity of my distress, I appeal to you as a 
Christian gentleman, as a true physician, a healer of the 
suffering, and under God, the guardian of my mother’s life. 
You know why I went to my grandfather. He gave me the 
money, one hundred dollars, and some valuable jewels. 
Y^ien in sight of home, I have been arrested on the charge 
of having murdered my grandfather, and stolen his will. 
Need I tell you that I am as innocent as you are? The 
thought of my mother is the bitterest drop in my cup of 
shame and sorrow. You can judge best, how much it may 
be expedient to tell her, and you can devise the kindest 
method of breaking the truth, if she must know it. Have 
her removed to the hospital, and do not postpone the op- 
eration. O Doctor! be pitiful, be tender to her, and do not 
let her need any little comforts. Some day I will pay you 
for all expenses incurred in her behalf, but at present I 
have not a dollar, as the money has been seized. I am sure 
you will not deny my prayer, and may God reward and 
Hess you, for your mercy to my precious mother. 

“In grateful trust, 

“Beryl Brentano. 

“P. S. — If you approve, deliver the enclosed note.” 

On a separate sheet she wrote: 

“My Darling Mother: 

“Finding it necessary to return to X , I have re- 

quested Dr. Grantlin to take particularly good care of you 
for a few days. Your father will never forgive, never 
receive you, but he kindly complied with your request and 
gave me one hundred dollars. Try to be patient until I can 
come and tell you everything, and believe that God will not 


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AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


forsake us. With these hurried lines, I send you a few 
chrysanthemums — your favorite flowers — which I gathered 
in the rose garden of your old home. When you smell 
them, think of your little girl who loves you better than her 
own life, and who will hasten home at the earliest possible 
moment, to take you in her arms. Mother, pray for me, and 
may God be very merciful to you, my dearest, and to — 

/ “Your devoted child, 

^ “Beryl.” 

She had bound the withered flowers together with a strip 
of fringe from her shawl, and now, with dry eyes and firm 
white lips, she kissed them twice, pinned the last note around 
them and laid the whole in Mrs. Foster’s hand. 

“I trust you to deliver them in person to Dr. Grantlin 
before you sleep to-night; and if I survive this awful out- 
rage, perpetrated under the name of law, I will find you 
some day, and thank you.” 

Looking at the lovely face, pure in its frpzen calm, as 
some marble lily in the fingers of a monumental effigy, Mrs. 
Foster felt the tears dimming her own vision; and said 
earnestly : 

“Keep as silent as possible. The less you say, the safer 
you will be; and run no risk of contradicting your own 
statements.” 

“I appreciate your motive, but I have nothing to conceal.” 

Beryl laid her hand on her shawl, then drew back. 

“Am I allowed the use of my shawl?” 

“Oh, certainly, madam.” 

The officer would have opened and put it around her, but 
with an indescribable movement of proud repulsion, she 
shook it out, then wrapped it closely about her, and sat 
down, keeping her eyes fixed on the face of the clock ticking 
over the fireplace. After a long and profound silence, the 
man who had arrested her, said gravely and gently: 

“Time is up. I must deliver you to Officer Gibson at the 
train. Come with me.” 

She rose, gave her hand to Mrs. Foster, and stooping sud- 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


77 

denly touched with her lips the withered flowers, then fol- 
lowed silently. 

In subsequent years, when she attempted to recall con- 
secutively the incidents of the ensuing forty-eight hours, 
they eluded her, like the flitting phantasmagoria that throng 
delirium ; yet subtle links fastened the details upon her 
brain, and sometimes most unexpectedly, that psychic necro- 
mancer — association of ideas — selected some episode from 
the sombre kaleidoscope of this dismal journey, and set it 
in lurid light before her, as startling and unwelcome as the 
face of an enemy long dead. Life and personality partook 
in some degree of duality; all that she had been before she 
saw Elm Bluff, seemed a hopelessly distinct existence, yet 
irrevocably chained to the mutilated and blackened After- 
ward, like the grim and loathsome unions enforced by the 
Noyades of Nantes. 

The sun did not forget to shine, nor the moon to keep her 
appointment with the throbbing stars that signalled all along 
her circuit. Men whistled, children laughed; the train thun- 
dered through tunnels, and flew across golden stubble fields, 
where grain shocks and hay stacks crowded like tents of the 
God of plenty, in the Autumnal bivouac; and throughout 
the long days and dreary lagging nights, Beryl was fully 
conscious of a ceaseless surveillance, of an ever-present 
shadow, which was tall and gaunt, wore a drab overcoat 
and slouched hat, and was redolent of tobacco. As silent as 
two mummies in the crypts of Karnac they sat side by side; 
and twice when the officer touched her arm and asked if she 
would take some refreshments, she merely shook her head, 
and tightened the folds of her veil; shrinking closer to the 
window against which she leaned. Not until they ap- 
proached X , and she recognized some features of the 

landscape, were her lips unsealed: 

“What persons are responsible for my arrest?” 

“Our District Solicitor, Mr. Churchill, and Mr. Dunbar, 
the lawyer, who made the affidavit under which the warrant 


78 


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was issued. I am only a deputy, acting under orders from 
the sheriff.” 

*‘You are taking me to prison?” 

“Perhaps not; it depends on the result of the preliminary 
examination, and you may be allowed bail.” 

A ray of hope silvered the shrouding gloom; there was 
a possibility of escaping the stain of incarceration. 

“When will the examination take place?” 

“About noon to-day. You will have time to eat something 
and freshen up a little." Here we are. What a crowd to 
welcome us ! Don’t stir. We will just wait a while, and 
I will get you into a carriage as quietly as possible.” 

He whispered some directions to the conductor of the 
train, and standing in the aisle with his arm across the seat, 
screened her from the gaze of a motley crew of men and 
boys who rushed in to stare at the prisoner, whose arrival 
had been impatiently expected. On the railway platform 
and about the station house surged a sea of human heads, 
straining now in the direction of the first passenger coach; 
and when in answer to some question, the conductor pointed 
to the sleeping car which was at the rear of the train, the 
mass swayed down the track. 

“Quick ! Now is our time !” 

The deputy sheriff hurried her out, almost lifted her from 
the steps, and pushing her forward, turned a corner of the 
street, and handed her into a carriage which awaited them. 


CHAPTER VI. 

To Beryl many hours seemed to have crept away, since 
she had been left alone in a small dusty apartment, adjoin- 
ing the office where the chief magistrate of X daily 

held court. Too restless to sit still, she paced up and down 
the floor, trying to collect her thoughts; and at last knelt 
by the side of a table, and laid her weight of dread and 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


79 


peril before the Throne of the God she trusted. The Father 
of the fatherless and Friend of the friendless, would surely 
protect her in this hour of intolerable degradation. 

“O, Thou that hearest prayer; unto Thee shall all flesh 
come.” 

The door opened, and a venerable, gray-haired man ap- 
proached the table, where her head was bent upon her 
crossed arms. When she lifted her white face, with the 
violet circles under her dry eyes, making them appear 
preternaturally large and luminous, and the beautiful mouth 
contracted by a spasm of intense pain, a deep sigh of com- 
passion passed the stranger’s lips. 

“I am Mitchell Dent, an old friend of General Barring- 
ton’s, and of your mother, who has often sat upon my knee. 
Because of my affection for your grandfather, I have asked 
permission to see you for a few moments. If you are un- 
justly accused, I desire to befriend you, and offer you some 
advice. I am told you assert your innocence of the great 
crime of which you are suspected. I hope you can prove it; 
but for your own sake I advise you to waive an examina- 
tion, and await the action of the Grand Jury, as you have 
had no opportunity of consulting counsel, or preparing your 
defence.” 

“You knew my mother? Then you should require no 
other proof that her child is not a criminal. I am innocent 
of every offence against General Barrington, except that of 
being my father’s daughter; and my unjustifiable arrest is 
almost as foul a wrong as his murder.” 

She drew herself proudly to her full height, and as his 
eyes dwelt in irrepressible admiration upon her, his man- 
hood did homage to her grace and dignity, and he took off 
his hat. 

“I earnestly hope so; and the law holds every person in- 
nocent until her guilt be fully proved and established.” 

“Of the significance of law terms I know nothing; and 
of the usages of courts I am equally ignorant. If, as you 


8o 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


suggest, I should waive an examination, should I escape im- 
prisonment ?” 

“No/’ 

“Then I must be tried at once; because I want to hurry 
back to my mother who is ill, and needs me.” 

“But you have no counsel as yet, and delay is your best 
policy.” 

“Delay might cost my mother’s life. I have no money to 
pay a lawyer to stand up and mystify matters, and my best 
policy is to defend myself, by telling the simple truth.” 

Again Judge Dent sighed. Could guilt be masked by this 
fair semblance of childlike guilelessness ? 

“Can you summon any witnesses to prove that you were 
not at Elm Bluff on the night of the storm ?” 

“Yes, the ticket agent knows I was in the waiting-room 
during that storm.” 

He shook his gray head. 

“He will be one of the strongest witnesses against you.” 

“Then I have no witnesses except — God, and my con- 
science.” 

The door opened, and with his watch in his hand the 
deputy sheriff entered. 

“Sorry to shorten your interview. Judge, but you know 
we have a martinet in yonder, a regular Turk, and he splits 
seconds into fractions.” 

As Judge Dent withdrew. Beryl realized that her hour of 
woe had arrived, and she began to pin her veil tightly over 
her face. 

“Come along. You can’t keep your veil on. Try to be as 
non-committal as possible when they ask you crooked ques- 
tions. Of course I want justice done, and I hope I am a 
faithful servant of the law; but if you are as innocent as 
a flock of ring-doves, the lawyers will try to confuse you.” 

He attempted to lead her, but she drew back. 

“I will follow you; but please do not hold my arm; do not 
touch me.” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


8i 


A moment later, a door opened and closed, a glare of 
light showed her a crowded room; a monotonous hum like 
the swell of the sea fell on her ear; then stifled ejaculations, 
to which succeeded a sudden, deathlike hush. The officer 
placed a chair for her in front of the platform where the 
magistrate sat, and retired to the rear of the room. With 
some difficulty Judge Dent made his way through the throng 
of spectators, and seated himself beside Mr. Dunbar. 

“Well, sir, how did the prisoner impress you?” asked the 
latter, as he folded up a paper. 

“Dunbar, you have made a mistake. I have spent the best 
of my life in the study of criminals; and if that woman 
yonder is not innocent, I am in my dotage.” 

“Pardon me. Judge, if I dispute both propositions. I made 
no mistake; and you are merely, in the goodness of your 
heart, and the fervor of your chivalry, darzled momentarily 
by the glamour of extraordinary beauty and touching youth.” 

When Beryl recovered in some degree from the shock of 
finding herself actually on trial, she endeavored to collect 
her faculties; but the violent palpitation of her heart was 
almost suffocating, and in her ears the surging as of an 
ocean tide, drowned the accents of the magistrate. At first 
the words were as meaningless as some Sanskrit formula, 
but gradually her attention grasped and comprehended. In 
a strident incisive voice he read from a paper on the desk 
before him: 

“At an inquisition held at X , T county, on the 

twenty-seventh day of October, before me, Jeremiah Bate- 
man, Coroner of said county, on the body of Robert Luke 
Darrington, there lying dead, by the jurors whose names are 
hereto subscribed; the said jurors upon their oath do say 
that Robert Luke Darrington came to his death on the night 
of Thursday, October twenty-sixth, by a murderous assault 
committed upon him by means of a heavy brass andiron. 
And from all the evidence brought before them, the jury 
believe that the fatal blow was feloniously given by the 
hand of his granddaughter, Beryl Brentano. 


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“In testimony whereof, the said jurors have hereunto set 
their hands, this twenty-seventh day of October, a.d., i8 — . 

“Signed 

“Attest, 

“Jeremiah Bateman, Coroner.’^ 

“In consequence of this verdict, and by virtue of a war- 
rant issued at the request of the District Solicitor, Governor 
Glenbeigh made a prompt requisition for the arrest and de- 
tention of the said Beryl Brentano, who has been identified 
and returned to this city, to answer the charges brought 
against her. The prisoner will unveil and stand up. 

“Beryl Brentano, you are charged with the murder of 
Robert Luke Darrington, by striking him with a brass 
andiron. Are you guilty, or not guilty?” 

“Not guilty.” Her voice was unsteady, but the words were 
distinct. 

Mr. Dunbar, Mr. Burk, and a middle-aged woman lean as 
Cassius, came nearer to the platform, and after a leisurely 
survey of the girl’s face and figure, pronounced her the per- 
son whom they had severally accused of the crime of causing 
the death of General Darrington. 

The canons that govern psychical phenomena are as oc- 
cult as the abstraction of the “fourth division of space” ; and 
they defy the realism of common-place probability, mock all 
analysis, and annihilate distance. When Beryl had first met 
the keen scrutiny of Mr. Dunbar’s glittering blue eyes, their 
baleful influence made her shiver slightly; and now at the 
instant in which he approached, and inspected her closely, 
she forgot that she was on trial for her life, became tem- 
porarily oblivious of her dismal entourage, and stood once 
more before a marble image in the Vatican, where the light 
streamed full on the cold face, that for centuries has been 
the synonym of blended beauty and cruelty. In her ears 
rang again the words her father had read aloud at her side, 
while she sketched: “But he does not inspire confidence, by 
the smile that would like to express goodness. The finely 
cut underlip that rises from the strongly marked hollow over 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


83 


the chin ought to sharpen with a dash of contempt the con- 
scious superiority that lies upon his broad, magnificent fore- 
head. His smile is in strong contrast with the cold gaze of 
the large open eyes; a gaze that hesitates not, but without 
mercy verifies a judgment fixed in advance, that gives up 
every one to condemnation.” 

The dusty crowded court-room appeared to swim in the 
rich aroma distilled from the creamy hearts of Roman hya- 
cinths ; and the velvet lips of purple Roman violets sud- 
denly babbled out the secret of the mysterious repulsion 
which had puzzled her, from the hour in which she first 
looked into Mr. Dunbar’s face; his strange resemblance to 
the Chiaramonti Tiberius, which she had studied and copied 
so carefully. In days gone by, the subtle repose, the mar- 
velous beauty of that marble face, where as yet the demon 
of destruction had cast no stain, possessed a singular fas- 
cination for her; and now the haunting likeness which had 
perplexed her at Elm Bluff, became associated inseparably 
with old Bedney’s description of Mr. Dunbar’s merciless 
treatment of witnesses, and Beryl realized with alarming 
clearness that in her grandfather’s lawyer she had met the 
incarnation of her cruel fate. 

Standing quite near her, he gravely related, with em- 
phatic distinctness and careful detail, his first meeting with 
the prisoner on the piazza at Elm Bluff, and the vivid im- 
pression she left on his mind; his return to Elm Bluff about 
half-past nine the same evening, in order to get a deed 
which he had forgotten to put into his pocket at the first 
visit. Learning that General Darrington had not yet retired 
for the night, he sent in to ask for the deed, and was sum- 
moned “to come and get it himself.” On entering the bed- 
room, he found his client wrapped in a cashmere dressing- 
gown, and sitting in an easy chair by the window, which 
opened on the north or front piazza. He appeared much 
perturbed and harassed, and in reply to inquiries touching 
his health, answered that he was “completely shaken up, 
and unnerved, by a very stormy and disagreeable interview 


84 


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held that afternoon with the child of his wayward daughter 
Ellice.” When witness asked: “Did not the great beauty 
of the embassadress accomplish the pardon and restoration 
of the erring mother?” General Barrington had struck his 
cane violently on the floor, and exclaimed: “Don’t talk such 
infernal nonsense ! Did you ever hear of my pardoning a 
wrong against my family name and honor? Does any man 
live, idiotic enough to consider me so soft-hearted? No, no. 
On the contrary, I was harsh to the girl; so harsh that she 
turned upon me, savage as a strong cub defending a crippled 
helpless dam. They know now that the last card has been 
played, and the game ended; for I gave her distinctly to 
understand that at my death. Prince would inherit every iota 
of my estate, and that my will had cut them off without a 
cent. I meant it then, I mean it now. I swear that low- 
born fiddler’s brood shall never darken these doors ; but 
somehow, I am unable to get rid of the strange, disagreeable 
sensation the girl left behind her, as a farewell legacy. She 
stood there at that glass door, and raised her hand like a 
prophetess. ‘General Barrington, when you lie down to die, 
may God have more mercy on your poor soul than you have 
shown to your suffering child.’ ” 

Witness advised him to go to bed, and sleep off the un- 
pleasant recollections of the day, but he said it was so op- 
pressively hot, he wanted to sit at the window, which was 
wide open. Witness having secured the deed, which was on 
the table in the room, bade his client good-night, and left 
the house. 

He was riding toward town, and thought it was about ten 
o’clock, when he saw the prisoner sitting under a pine tree 
near the road, and not more than a half a mile from the 
bridge over the “Branch” that runs at the foot of Elm 
Bluff. His horse had shied and plunged at sight of her, 
and, the moonlight being bright as day, witness easily 
recognized her as the same person he had seen earlier in 
the afternoon. Thinking her appearance there at that hour 
was ra^er mysterious, he asked her if she had lost her way; 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


85 


to which she replied “No, sir.” On the following morning, 
when the mournful news of the murder of General Barring- 
ton had convulsed the entire community with grief and 
horror, witness had smothered his reluctance to proceed 
against a woman, and a solemn sense of duty forced him to 
bring these suspicious circumstances to the knowledge of 
the District Solicitor. 

While he gave his testimony, Mr. Dunbar watched her 
closely for some trace of emotion, but she met his gaze 
without the movement of a muscle, and he detected not even 
a quiver of the jet lashes that darkened her proud gray 
eyes. 

Antony Burk next testified that he had given the a-ccused 
instructions about the road to Elm Bluff, when she arrived 

at X ; and that after buying her return ticket, she told 

him it was necessary she should take the 7:15 train, and 
that she would be sure to catch it. The train was a few 
minutes late, but had pulled out of the station twenty 
minutes before the prisoner came back, when she appeared 
much annoyed at having missed it. 

Then she had sent a telegram (a copy of which was in 
the possession of the Solicitor), and requested him to allow 
her to remain in the ladies’ waiting-room until the next 
train at 3:05. He had directed her to a hotel close by, but 
she declined going there. Thinking she was fatigued and 
might relish it, he had, after supper, carried a pitcher of 
iced tea to the waiting-room, but though he remained there 
until nine o’clock she was nowhere visible. He went home 
and went to sleep, but the violence of the storm aroused 
him; and when he took his lantern and went back to unlock 
the ticket office, he searched the whole place, and the pris- 
oner was not in the building. This was at half-past two 
A.M., and the pitcher of tea remained untouched where he 
had placed it. It was not raining when he returned, and 
a few minutes after he had hunted for the prisoner, he was 
standing in the door of his office and he saw her coming 
down the railway track, from the direction of the water 


86 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


tank and the bridge. She was breathing rapidly as if she 
had been running, and witness noticed that her clothes were 
damp, and that some drops of water fell from the edge of 
her hat. A lamp-post stood in front of the station, and he 
saw her plainly; asked her why she did not stay in the 
room, which he had left open for her? Prisoner said she 
had remained there. Witness told her he knew better; that 
she was not there at nine nor yet at half-past two o’clock. 
The accused did not appear inclined to talk, and gave no 
explanation, but got aboard the 3 105 train. Witness consid- 
ered her actions so suspicious, that he had related all he 
knew to Mr. Dunbar, who had summoned him before the 
magistrate. He (witness) was very loath to think evil of 
a woman, especially one so beautiful and noble looking, and 
if he wronged her, he hoped God would forgive him; but 
he never dodged telling the truth. 

Here the female Cassius rose, and gave her name as 
Angeline Dobbs. 

“She had for several years attended to the sewing and 
mending at Elm Bluff, being summoned there whenever her 
services were required. On the afternoon previous to Gen- 
eral Darrington’s death she was sitting at her needlework in 
the hall of the second story of his house. As the day was 
very hot, she had opened the door leading out to an iron 
balcony, which projected just over the front hall door down- 
stairs; and since the piazza was open from the roof to the 
floor, she had peeped over, and seen the prisoner when she 
arrived, and had watched her while she sat on the steps, 
waiting to be admitted. After the accused had been inside 
the house some time, she (witness) recollected that she had 
seen a hole in one of the lace curtains in the library down- 
stairs, and thought this would be such a nice time to darn 
it. The library was opposite the drawing room, and ad- 
joined General Darrington’s bed-room. The door was open 
and witness heard what she supposed was a quarrel, as 
General Darrington’s voice was loud and violent; and she 
distinctly heard him say: ‘My will is so strong, no contest 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


87 


can touch it ! and it will stand forever between your mother 
and my property/ Soon after, General Barrington had 
slammed the door, and though she heard loud tones for some 
time, she could not make out the words. The impression left 
on witness’s mind was that the prisoner was very impudent 
to the old gentleman ; and not long afterward she saw 
accused standing in the rose garden, pretending to gather 
some flowers, but really looking up and down at the front 
windows. Witness knew the prisoner saw the vault where 
the General kept his papers, because she heard it opened 
while she was in the bed-room. The door of the vault or 
safe did not open on hinges, but was iron, and slid on a 
metal rod, which made a very peculiar squeaking sound. 
When she heard the noise she thought that General Bar- 
rington was so enraged that he got the will to show pris- 
oner it was all fixed forever, against her and her mother.” 

When Miss Bobbs sat down, a lame man, disfigured by 
a scar on his cheek, leaned upon a stick and testified: 

“My name is Belshazzar Tatem. Was an orderly sergeant 
attached to General Barrington’s staff during the war; but 
since that time have been a florist and gardener, and am 
employed to trim hedges and vines, and transplant flowers 
at Elm Bluff.” On the afternoon of the prisoner’s visit 
there, he was resetting violet roots on a border under the 
western veranda, upon which opened the glass door leading 
out from the General’s bed-room. He had heard an angry 
altercation carried on between General Barrington and some 
one, and supposed he was scolding one of the servants. He 
went to a shed in the barn yard to get a spade he needed, 
and when he came back he saw the prisoner walk down 
the steps, and thought it singular a stranger should leave 
the house that way. Wondered whom she could be, and 
wondered also that the General had quarrelled with such 
a splendid looking lady. Next morning when he went back 
to his work, he noticed the glass door was shut, but the red 
curtain inside was looped back. He thought it was half-past 
eight o’clock, when he heard a loud cry in the bed-room. 


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AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


and very soon after, somebody screamed. He ran up the 
steps, but the glass door was locked on the inside, and 
when he went around and got into the room, the first thing 
he saw was General Barrington’s body lying on the floor, 
with his feet tov/ard the hearth, and his head almost on a 
line with the iron vault built in the wall. The servants 
were screaming and wringing their hands, and he called 
them to help him lift the General, thinking that he had 
dropped in a fit; but he found him stone cold and stiff. 
There was no sign of blood anywhere, but a heavy, old- 
fashioned brass andiron was lying close to the General’s 
head, and he saw a black spot like a bruise on his right 
temple. General Barrington wore his night clothes, and the 
bed showed he had been asleep there. Some broken vases 
were on the floor and hearth, and the vault was wide open. 
The tin box v/as upside down on the carpet, and some pa- 
pers in envelopes were scattered about. 

Witness had picked up a leather bag carefully tied at 
the top with red tape, drawn into hard knots; but in one 
side he found a hole which had been cut with a knife, and 
at the bottom of the bag was a twenty-dollar gold piece. 
Two more coins of the same value were discovered on the 
floor, when General Barrington’s body was lifted; and on 
the bolster of the bed lay a bottle containing chloroform. 
Witness immediately sent off for some of General Bar- 
rington’s friends, and also notified the coroner; and he did 
not leave the room again until the inquest was held. The 
window on the front piazza was open, and witness had 
searched the piazza and the grounds for tracks, but dis- 
covered no traces of the burglar and murderer, who had 
escaped before the rain ceased, otherwise the tracks would 
have been found. Witness was positive that the prisoner 
was the same person whom he had seen coming out of the 
bed-room, and with whom General Barrington had quar- 
relled. 

The sheriff here handed to the magistrate, the gold pieces 
found on the floor at Elm Bluff, by the last witness; then 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


89 


the little wicker basket which had been taken from the pris- 
oner when she was arrested. The coins discovered therein 
were taken out, and careful comparison showed that they 
corresponded exactly with those picked up after the mur- 
der. The case of sapphires was also shown, and Mr. Dun- 
bar rose to say, that “The prosecution would prove by the 
attorney who drew up General Barrington’s will, that these 
exceedingly valuable stones had been bequeathed by a clause 
in that will to Prince Barrington, as a bridal present for 
whomsoever he might marry.” 

A brief silence ensued, during which the magistrate pulled 
at the corner of his tawny mustache, and earnestly re- 
garded the prisoner. She stood, with her beautiful white 
hands clasped before her, the slender fingers interlaced, the 
head thrown proudly back. Extreme pallor had given place 
to a vivid flush that dyed her cheeks, and crimsoned her 
delicate lips ; and her eyes looking straight into space, 
glowed with an unnatural and indescribable lustre. Tad- 
mor’s queen Bath Zabbai could not have appeared more 
regal in her haughty pose, amid the exulting shouts that rent 
the skies of conquering Rome. The magistrate cleared his 
throat, and addressed the accused. 

“You are Beryl Brentano, the granddaughter of General 
Barrington ?” 

“I am Beryl Brentano.” 

“You have heard the charges brought against you. What 
have you to say in defence?” 

“That I am innocent of every accusation.” 

“By what witnesses will you prove it?” 

“By a statement of the whole truth in detail, if I may 
be allowed to make it.” 

Here the Solicitor, Mr. Churchill, rose and said: 

“While faithfully discharging my official duties, loyalty 
to justice does not smother the accents of human sympathy; 
and before proceeding any further, I hope your Honor will 
appoint some counsel to confer with and advise the prisoner. 
Her isolation appeals to every noble instinct of manhood. 


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AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


and it were indeed puerile tribute to our lamented General 
Barrington, to bring his granddaughter before this tribunal, 
without the aid and defence of legal advisers. Justice itself 
would not be welcome to me, if unjustly won. My friend, 
Mr. Hazelton, who is present, has expressed his desire to 
defend the prisoner; and while I am aware that your Honor 
is under the impression she refuses to accept counsel, I trust 
you will nevertheless commit her, until she can confer with 
him.” 

Mr. Hazelton rose and bowed, in tacit approval. 

Beryl advanced a few steps, and her clear pure voice 
thrilled every heart in the crowded room. 

“I need no help to tell the truth, and I want to conceal 
nothing. Time is inexpressibly valuable to me now, for a 
human life more precious than my own is at stake; and if 
I am detained here, my mother may die. May I speak at 
once, and explain the circumstances which you consider so 
mysterious as to justify the shameful indignity put upon 
me?” 

“Since you assume the responsibility of your own defence, 
you may proceed with your statement. Relate what oc- 
curred from the hour you reached Elm Bluff, until you left 
X next morning.” 

“I came here to deliver in person a letter written by my 
mother to her father. General Barrington, because other 
letters sent through the mail, had been returned unread. It 
contained a request for one hundred dollars to pay the ex- 
pense of a surgical operation, which we hoped would restore 
her health. When I reached Elm Bluff, I waited on the 
steps, until General Barrington’s attorney finished his busi- 
ness and came out; then I was led by an old colored man 
to the bed-room where General Barrington sat. I gave no 
name, fearing he might refuse to admit me, and he was very 
courteous in his manner until I laid the letter before him. 
He immediately recognized the handwriting, and threw it 
on the floor, declaring that no human being had the right 
to address him as father, except his son Prince. I picked 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


91 


up the letter, and insisted he should at least read the peti- 
tion of a suffering, and perhaps dying woman. He was 
very violent in his denunciation of my parents, and his voice 
was loud and angry. So painful was the whole interview, 
that it was a bitter trial to me to remain in his presence, 
but knowing how absolutely necessary it was that mother 
should obtain the money, I forced myself to beg him to 
read the letter. Finally he consented, read it, and seemed 
somewhat softened; but he tore it into strips and threw it 
from him. He drank several glasses of wine from a 
decanter on the table, and offered me some, expressing the 
opinion that I must be tired from my journey. I declined 
it. General Barrington then questioned me about my fam- 
ily, my mode of living; and after a few moments became 
very much excited, renewing his harsh invectives against 
my parents. It was at this stage of the interview that he 
uttered the identical words quoted by the witness : ‘My Will 
is so strong, no contest can touch it, and it will stand for- 
ever between your mother and my property.’ 

“Immediately after, he went to the door leading into the 
library and called ‘Bedney !’ No one answered, and he shut 
the door, kicking it as it closed. When he came back to 
his chair, he said very bitterly: ‘At least we will have no 
eavesdroppers at this resurrection of my dead.’ He told me 
all the story of my mother’s girlhood; of her marriage, 
which had infuriated him; that he had sent her a certain 
proportion of property, and then disowned and disinherited 
her. Afterward he described his lonely life, his second mar- 
riage which was very happy, and his adoption of his wife’s 
son, who, he repeatedly told me, had usurped my mother’s 
place in his affections. Finally he said: 

“ ‘Your mother has asked foi one hundred dollars. You 
shall have it; not because I recognize her as child of mine, 
but because a sick woman appeals to a Southern gentle- 
man.’ 

“He took a bunch of keys from his pocket, and with one 
of them opened a safe or iron closet on the wall near the 


92 


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chimney, and from that vault he brought a square black tin 
box to the table, where he opened it. He took out a leather 
bag, and counted into my hand five gold pieces of twenty 
dollars each. The money was given so ungraciously that 
I told him I would not accept it, save as a loan for mother’s 
benefit; and that as soon as I could earn it I would return 
the amount to him. I was so anxious to get away, I started 
toward the library door, but he called me back, and gave 
me the morocco case which contains the sapphires. He said 
my mother’s mother had bought them as a gift for her 
daughter, to be worn when she was graduated at school; but 
as she married and left school without his knowledge, the 
jewels had never been seen by her. He told me he had 
intended to give them to his son Prince, for his bride, but 
that now he would send them to mother, who could sell 
them for a handsome sum, because they were valuable. He 
showed so much sorrow at this time, that I begged him to 
give me some message of pardon and affection, which she 
would prize infinitely more than money or jewels; but he 
again became angry and bitter, and so I left him. I came 
away by the door leading out on the iron veranda, because 
he directed me to do so, saying that he did not wish me 
to meet the servants, who would pry and tattle. When I 
closed the glass door I saw him standing in the middle of 
the room, leaning on his cane, and he had the black tin box 
in his hand. The sun was setting then, and now — ” 

She ceased speaking for some seconds, then raised her 
hands toward heaven, and with uplifted eyes that seemed in 
their strained gaze to pierce beyond the veil, she added with 
solemn emphasis: 

‘T call God to witness, that was the last and only time 
I ever saw General Barrington. That was the last and only 
visit I ever made to Elm Bluff.” 

There was a general movement among the spectators, and 
audible excitement, which was promptly quelled by the 
magistrate. 

‘‘Silence there in front, or I shall order the room cleared.’^ 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


93 


Turning toward Beryl, he said: 

“If you left Elm Bluff at sunset, why did you not take the 
7:15 train?” 

“I tried to do so, but missed it because I desired to obey 
my mother’s injunctions as strictly as possible. She gave 
me a small bunch of flowers, and asked me to be sure to 
lay them for her on her mother’s grave. When I reached 
the cemetery, which you know is in sight of the road from 
Elm Bluff, the gate was locked, and it required some time 
to enable me to climb over the wall and find the monument. 
It was growing dark, and when I arrived at the station, I 
learned the train had just gone.” 

“Why did you not go to a hotel, as you were advised to 
do?” 

“Because after sending the telegram to my mother, I had 
no money to pay for lodging; and I asked permission to stay 
in the ladies’ waiting-room.” 

“State where and how you spent the night.” 

“It was very hot and sultry in that room, and as there 
was a bright moon shining, I walked out to get some fresh 
air. The pine woods had appeared so pretty and pleasant 
that afternoon, that I went on and on toward them, and did 
not realize how far they were. I met people passing along 
the road, and it did not seem lonely. The smell of the pines 
was new to me, and to enjoy it, I sat down on the straw. 
I was tired, and must have fallen asleep at once, for I re- 
member nothing till some noise startled me, and there I saw 
the same man on horseback in the road, whom I had met 
at Elm Bluff. He asked me if I had missed my way, and 
I answered ‘No, sir.’ The height of the moon showed me it 
was late, and as I was frightened at finding myself alone in 
the woods, I almost ran back to the railway station, where 
I saw no one, except a telegraph operator, who seemed to 
be asleep in his chair. I cannot say what time it was, be- 
cause I could not see the clock. Soon after, it began to 
thunder, and all through that terrible storm I was alone in 
the waiting-room. So great was my relief when the wind 


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and lightning ceased, that I went to sleep, and dreamed of 
a happy time when I lived in Italy, and of talking with one 
very dear to me. Just then I awoke with a start, and heard 
a voice talking outside, which seemed very familiar. There 
were two persons; one, a negro, said: 

“ ‘There ain’t no train ’till daylight, excepting the through 
freight.* 

“The other person asked: ‘When is it due?’ The negro 
answered : 

“ ‘Pretty soon, but it don’t stop here ; it goes to the water 
tank where it blows for the railroad bridge ; and that is only 
a short distance up the track.’ 

“I think I must have been only half awake, and with my 
mind fixed on my dream, I ran out in front of the station 
house. An old negro man limping down the street was t!:e 
only person visible, and while I watched him he suddenly 
vanished. I went along the track for some distance but saw 
no one; and when I came back, the ticket agent was stand- 
ing in the door of his office. I cannot explain to you the sin- 
gular impulse which carried me out, when I heard the dia- 
logue, because it is inexplicable to myself, save by the sup- 
position that I was still dreaming; and yet I saw the negro 
man distinctly. There was a lamp-post near him, and he 
had a bundle on his shoulder. When the 3.05 train came, 
I went aboard and left X .” 

A smile parted Mr. Dunbar’s lips, and his handsome teeth 
glittered as he whispered to Judge Dent: 

“Even your chivalrous compassion can scarcely digest this 
knotty solution of her movements that night. As a fabrica- 
tion, it does little credit to her ingenuity.” 

“Her statement impresses me differently. She is either 
entirely innocent, or she had an accomplice, whose voice she 
recognized; and this clue should be investigated.” 

The District Solicitor rose and bowed to the Magistrate. 

“With your Honor’s permission, I should like to ask the 
prisoner whom she expected to see, when she recognized the 
voice ?” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


95 

“A person who is very dear to me, but who is not in the 
United States.” 

“What is the name of that person?” 

Her lips moved to pronounce his name, but some swift 
intuitive warning restrained the utterance. Suddenly a new 
horror, a ghastly possibility, thrust itself for the first time 
before her, and she felt as though some hand of ice clutched 
her heart. 

Those who watched her so closely, saw the blood ebb from 
cheeks and lips; noted the ashy pallor that succeeded, and 
the strange groping motion of her hands. She staggered 
toward the platform, and when the Magistrate caught her 
arm, she fell against him like some tottering marble image, 
entirely unconscious. 

♦ * >|c * * 

So prolonged and death-like was the swoon, and so futile 
the usual methods of restoration, that the prisoner was car- 
ried into the small ante-room, and laid upon a wooden 
bench; where a physician, who chanced to be in the audi- 
ence, was summoned to attend her. Finding restoratives 
ineffectual, he took out his lancet: 

“This is no ordinary fainting fit.” 

He attempted to roll up one of her sleeves, but seeing 
this was impracticable, would have unfastened her dress, 
had not Judge Dent arrested his hand. 

“No, doctor; cut out the sleeve if necessary, but don't 
touch her otherwise.” 

“Let me assist you ; I can easily bare the arm.” 

As he spoke, Mr. Dunbar knelt beside the bench, and with 
a small, sharp pen-knife ripped the seam from elbow to 
shoulder, from elbow to wrist, swiftly and deftly folding 
back the sleeve, and exposing the perfect moulding of the 
snowy arm. 

“Just hold the hand, Dunbar, so as to keep it steady.” 

Clasping closely the hand, which the physician laid in his 
palm, the attorney noted the exquisite symmetry of the 
slender fingers and oval nails. He bent forward and 


96 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


watched the frozen face. When the heavily lashed lids 
quivered and lifted, and she looked vacantly at the grave 
compassionate countenances leaning over her, a certain 
tightening of the hold upon her fingers, drew her attention. 
Her gaze fastened on the lawyer’s blue eyes as if by a subtle 
malign fascination. The veil that shrouded consciousness 
was rent, not fully raised; and as in some dream the solemn 
eyes appeared to search his. A strange shivering thrill shot 
along his nerves, and his quiet, well regulated heart so long 
the docile obedient motor, fettered vassal of his will, 
bounded, strained hard on the steel cable that held it in 
thrall. 

“You feel better now?” asked the physician, who was 
stanching the flow of blood. 

Still her gaze seemed to penetrate the inmost recesses of 
the lawyer’s nature, calling into sudden revolt dormant ele- 
ments that amazed and defied him. 

A shadowy smile curved her pale lips. 

“At the mercy of Tiberius. At the mercy of Tiberius.” 

Those present looked inquiringly at each other. 

“Her mind wanders a little. Sheriff, give her some of 
that brandy. She is as weak as a baby.” 

Judge Dent raised her head, and the officer held the tum- 
bler to her mouth; while the former said gently: 

“My poor girl, drink a little, it will strengthen you.” 

With a gesture of loathing, she rejected it; and as she 
attempted to raise herself, all the dire extremity of her peril 
rushed back upon her mind, like a black overwhelming tide 
from the sea of the past. 

“Lie still, until I have bandaged your arm. Here, Dun- 
bar, you acquitted yourself so dexterously with your knife, 
just fend a hand. Hold the arm until I secure the bandage.” 

To find herself surrounded by men, helpless in the grasp 
of strangers, with no womanly touch or glance to sustain 
her, served to intensify her misery; and wrenching herself 
free, she struggled into a sitting posture, then staggered to 
her feet. The heavy coil of hair loosened when they bore 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


97 


her from the court-room, now released itself from restrain- 
ing pins, and fell in burnished waves to her knees, clothing 
her with a glory, such as the world’s great masters in art 
reserve for the beatified. Had all the blood that fed her 
heart been drained, she would not have appeared more 
deadly pale, and in her wide eyes was the desperate look 
of a doomed animal, that feels the hot fangs of the hounds, 
and the cold steel of the hunters. 

“Be persuaded for your own sake, to swallow some stimu- 
lant, of which you are sadly in need. You will require all 
your strength, and, as a physician, I insist upon your taking 
my prescription.” 

“If I might have some water. Just a little water.” 

Some one brought a brown stone pitcher, and she drank 
long and thirstily; then looked for a moment at the faces 
of those who crowded about her. 

“What will be done now?” 

Every eye fell to the floor, and after a painful silence 
Judge Dent said very gently: 

“For the present, the Magistrate will retain you in cus- 
tody, until the action of the Grand Jury. Should they fail 
to indict you, then you will at once be released.” 

“I am to go to prison ? I am to be thrust among convicts, 
vile criminals ! I — ? My father’s Beryl ? O, righteous 
God! Where is Thy justice? O, Christ! Is Thy mercy 
a mockery?” 

She stood, with her chin resting on her clinched hands, 
and twice a long violent shudder shook her from head to 
foot. 

“I hope your imprisonment will be only temporary. The 
Grand Jury will be in session next week. Meantime dili- 
gent search may discover the persons whose conversation 
you overheard at the station ; and if you be innocent, we are 
all your friends, and the law, which now seems so stern, 
will prove your strongest protector and vindicator.” 

Judge Dent stood close beside her, as he essayed these 
words of comfort, and saw that she caught her breath as 


98 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


though in mortal agony. Her face writhed, and she shut her 
eyes, unable ‘to contemplate some hideous apparition. He 
suspected that she was fighting desperately an impulse that 
suggested succor; and he was sure she had strangled it, 
when her hands fell nerveless at her side, and she raised 
her bowed head. If the finger of paralysis had passed over 
her features, they would not have appeared more hopelessly 
fixed. Mechanically she twisted and coiled her hair, and 
took the hat and shawl which the officer held out to her. 

“If I can assist you in any way, you have only to send 
for me.” 

She looked at Judge Dent intently, for an instant, then 
shook her head. 

“No one can help me now.” 

She tied her veil over her face, and silently followed the 
deputy sheriff to a carriage, that stood near the pavement. 

When be would have assisted her, she haughtily repelled 
him. 

“I will follow you, because I must; but do not put your 
hands on me.” 


CHAPTER VII, 

In ante helium days, when States' Rights was a sacred 
faith, a revered and precious palladium, State pride blos- 
somed under Southern skies, and State coffers overflowed 
with the abundance wherewith God blessed the land. Dur- 
ing that period, when it became necessary to select a site 
for a new Penitentiary, the salubrity and central location of 

X had so strongly commended it, that the spacious 

structure was erected within its limits, and regarded as an 
architectural triumph of which the State might justly boast. 
Soon after this had been completed, the old county jail, sit- 
uated on the border of the town, was burned one windy 
March night; then the red rain of war deluged the land. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


99 


and when the ghastly sun of “Reconstruction” smiled upon 
the grave of States’ Rights, Municipal money disappeared 
in subterranean channels. Thus it came to pass, that with 
the exception of a small “lockup” attached to Police Head- 
quarters, X had failed to rebuild its jail, and domiciled 

its dangerous transgressors in the great stone prison; paying 
therefor to the State an annual amount per capita. 

Built of gray granite which darkened with time and 
weather stains, its massive walls, machicolated roof, and tall 
arched clock-tower lifted their leaden outlines against the 
sky, and cast a brooding shadow over the town, lying be- 
low; a grim perpetual menace to all who subsequently found 
themselves locked in its reformatory arms. Separated from 
the bustling mart and busy traffic, by the winding river that 

divided the little city into North and South X , it crested 

an eminence on the north; and the single lower story flank- 
ing the main edifice east and west, resembled the trailing 
wings of some vast bird of prey, an exaggerated simulacrum 
of a monstrous gray condor perched on a “coigne of van- 
tage,” waiting to swoop upon its victims. Encircled by a 
tall brick wall, which was surmounted by iron spikes sharp 
as bayonets, that defied escalade, the grounds extended to 
the verge of the swift stream in front, and stretched back to 
the border of a heavily timbered tract of pine land, a bit of 
primeval forest left to stare at the encroaching armies of 
Philistinism. 

Within the precincts of the yard, the tender conservatism 
of our great-hearted mother Nature, gently toned the savage 
stony features ; and even under the chill frown of iron 
barred windows, golden sunshine bravely smiled, soft grasses 
wove their emerald velvet tapestries starred and flushed 
with dainty satin petals, which late Autumn roses showered 
in munificent contribution, to the work of pitying love. 

In a comfortably furnished room situated in the second 
story of the main building, sat a woman apparently thirty- 
five years old, who was singing to a baby lying face down- 
ward on her lap, while with one hand she rocked the wicker 


TOO 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


cradle beside her, where a boy of four years was tossing. 
Her hazel eyes were full of kindly light, the whole face elo- 
quent with that patient, limitless tenderness, which is the 
magic chrism of maternity, wherewith Lucina and Cuba 
abundantly anoint Motherhood. The blessed and infallible 
nepenthe for all childhood’s ills and aches, mother touch, 
mother songs, soon held soothing sway ; and when the 
woman laid the sleeping babe on her own bed, and covered 
her with a shawl, she saw her husband leaning against the 
partly open door. 

“Come here, Susie. The kids are snug and safe for the 
present, and I want you.” 

“For shame, Ned ! To call our darlings such a beastly 
name. Kids, indeed ! My sweetest, loveliest lambs !” 

“There ! Hear yourself ! If I can see any choice of re- 
spectability between kids and lambs, may I turn to a thor- 
oughbred Southdown, and take the blue ribbon at the next 
Fair. Beasts of the field, all of them. The always-wide- 
awake-contrariness of womankind is a curious and fearful 
thing. If I had called our beloved towheads, lambs, you 
would have sworn through blue ruin that they were the 
cutest, spryest pair of spotted kids, that ever skipped over 
a five-railed fence !” 

“So much the worse for you, Ned Singleton, that you are 
such a hopeless heathen; you do not even know where the 
Elect are appointed to stand, at that great day, when the 
sheep come up on the right hand of the Lord, and the goats 
go down to the left. If you read your Bible more, I should 
have less to teach you.” 

“Oh ! but let me tell you, I thought of all that before I 
made up my mind to marry the daughter of a Presbyterian 
preacher. I knew your dear little blue-nose would keep the 
orthodox trail ; and being one of the Elect you could not get 
the points of the celestial compass mixed. Don’t you forget, 
that it is part of the unspoken marriage contract, that the 
wife must not only keep her own soul white, but bleach her 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


lOI 


husband’s also; and no matter what a reprobate a man may 
be, he always expects his better-half, by hook or by crook, 
to steer him into heaven.” 

He put his hands on his wife’s shoulders, shook her, in 
token of mastery, and kissed her. 

“What do you want of my ‘always-wide-awake-contrari- 
ness’? I have half a mind not to help you out of your 
scrape; for of course you have mired somewhere. What is 
the matter now, Ned?” 

“Yes — stuck hard and fast; so my dear little woman, don’t 
you go back on your wedding-day promises, but just lend 
a helping hand. I don’t know what is to be done with that 
poor young woman in No. 19. One of the under-wardens, 
Jarvis, sleeps this week right under her cell, and he tells 
me that all night long she tramps up and down, without 
cessation, like some caged animal. This is her third day in, 
and she has not touched a morsel; though at Judge Dent’s 
request I ordered some extras given her. Jarvis said she 
was not sullen, but he thought it proper to report to me that 
she seemed to act very strangely; so I went up to see after 
her. When I opened the door she was walking up and down 
the floor, with her hands locked at the back of her head, 
and I declare, Susie, she looks five years older than when 
she came here. There are great dark hollows under her 
eyes, and two red spots like coals of fire on her cheeks. I 
said: ‘Are you sick, that you reject your meals?’ To which 
she replied: ‘Don’t trouble yourself to send me food; I can- 
not eat !’ Then I told her I understood that she was restless 
at night, and I advised her to take a mixture which would 
quiet her nerves. She shook her head, and I could not bear 
to look at her; the eyes seemed so like a wounded fawn’s, 
brimful of misery. I asked her if there was anything I 
could do, to make her more comfortable; or if she needed 
medicine. All this time she kept up her quick walk to and 
fro, and she answered: ‘Thank you. I need nothing — but 
death; and that will come soon.’ Now what could I say? 
I felt such a lump in my throat, that if Solomon had whis- 


102 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


pered to me some kind speech, I could not have uttered v , 
so I got out of the room just as fast as possible, to dry thv 
tears that somehow would blur my eyes. When they are 
surly, or snappish, or violent, or insolent, I know exactly 
what to do, and have no trouble; but hang me, if I can cope 
with this lady — there it is out ! She is a lady every inch, 
and as much out of place here as I should be in Queen Vic- 
toria’s drawing-room. Men are clumsy brutes, even in kid 
gloves, and bruise much oftener than they heal. Whenever 
I am in that girl’s presence, I have a queer feeling that I 
am walking on eggs, and tip-toe as I may, shall smash 
things. If something is not done, she will be ill on our 
hands, and a funeral will balk the bloodhounds.” 

“O, hush, Ned ! You give me the shivers. My heart 
yearns toward that beautiful young creature, and I believe 
she is as innocent as my baby. It is a burning shame to 
send her here, unless there is no doubt of her guilt. Judge 
Dent is too shrewd an old fox to be baited with chaff, and 
I am satisfied from what he told you, that he believes her 
statement. There is nothing I would not do to comfort her, 
but I would rather have my ears boxed than witness her suf- 
fering. The day I carried to her a change of clothes, until 
her own could be washed, and sewed up her dress sleeve, I 
did nothing but cry. I could not help it, when she moaned 
and wrung her hands, and said her mother’s heart would 
break. I have heard all my life that justice is blind; I have 
learned to believe it, for it stumbles, and gropes, and lays 
iron claws on the wrong person. As for the lawyers? 
They are fit pilots ; and the courts are little better than blind 
man’s buff. Don’t stand chewing your mustache, Ned. Tell 
me what you want me to do, while baby is asleep. She has 
a vexatious habit of taking cat naps.” 

“Little woman, I turn over the case to you. Just let your 
heart loose, and follow it.” 

“If I do, will you endorse me?” 

“Till the stars fall.” 

“Can you stay here awhile?”- 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


103 


“Yes, if you will tell Jarvis where he can find me.” 

“Mind you, Ned, you are not to interfere with me?” 

“No — I swear I won’t. Hurry up, or there will be much 
music in this bleating fold ; and you know I am as utterly 
useless with a crying child, as a one-armed man in a con- 
cert of fiddlers.” 

The cell assigned to the new prisoner was in the centre 
of a line, which rose tier above tier, like the compartments 
in a pigeon house, or the sombre caves hewn out of rock- 
ribbed cliffs, in some lonely Laura. Iron stairways con- 
ducted the unfortunates to these stone cages, where the dim 
cold light filtered through the iron lattice-work of the 
upper part of the door, made a perpetual crepuscular atmos- 
phere within. The bare floor, walls, and low ceiling were 
spotlessly clean and white; and an iron cot with heavy 
brown blankets spread smoothly and a wooden bench in one 
corner, constituted the furniture. Scrupulous neatness 
reigned everywhere, but the air was burdened with the odor 
of carbolic acid, and even at mid-day was chill as the breath 
of a tomb. Where the doors were thrown open, they re- 
sembled the yawning jaws of rifled graves; and when 
closed, the woful inmates peering through the black lattice 
seemed an incarnation of Dante’s hideous Caina tenants. 

When Mrs. Singleton stopped in front of No. 19, and 
looked through the grating. Beryl was standing at the ex- 
tremity of the cell, with her face turned to the wall, and her 
hands clasping the back of her neck. The ceiling was so 
low she could have touched it, had she lifted her arms, and 
she appeared to have retreated as far in the gloomy den as 
the barriers allowed. Thinking that perhaps the girl was 
praying, the warden’s wife waited some minutes, but no 
sound greeted her; and so motionless was the figure, that it 
might have been only an alto rilievo carved on the wall. 
Pushing the door open, Mrs. Singleton entered, and de- 
posited on the iron bed a waiter covered with a snowy nap- 
kin. At the sound. Beryl turned, and her arms fell to her 
side, but she shrank back against the wall, as if solitude 


104 at the mercy of TIBERIUS 

were her only solace, and human intrusion an added torture. 

Mrs. Singleton took both hands, and held them firmly: 

“Do you believe it right to commit suicide ?” 

“I believe in everything but human justice, and Divine 
mercy.” 

“Your conscience tells you that — ” 

“Am I allowed a conscience? What ghastly mockery! 
Thieves and murderers are not fit tenements for conscience, 
and I — I — am accused of stealing, and of bloodshed. Jus- 
tice ! What a horrible sham ! We — her victims — who 
adored the beneficent and incorruptible attribute of God 
Himself — we are undeceived, when Justice — the harpy — 
tears our hearts out with her hideous, foul, defiling claws.” 

She spoke through set teeth, and a spasm of shuddering 
shook her from head to feet. 

“Listen to me. Suspicion is one thing, proof something 
very different. You are accused, but not convicted, and 

“I shall be. Justice must be appeased, and I am the most 
convenient and available victim. An awful crime has been 
committed, and outraged law, screaming for vengeance, 
pounces like a hungry hawk on an innocent and unsuspect- 
ing prey. Does she spare the victim because it quivers, and 
dies hard?” 

“Hush ! You must not despair. I believe in your inno- 
cence; I believe every word you uttered that day was true, 
and I believe that our merciful God will protect you. Put 
yourself in His hands, and His mercy will save, for *it 
endureth forever.’ ” 

“I don’t ask mercy! I claim justice — from God and 
man. The wicked grovel, and beg for mercy; but innocence 
lays hold upon the very throne of God, and clutches His 
sword, and demands justice!” 

“I understand how you feel, and I do not wonder; but 
for your own sake, in order to keep your mind clear and 
strong for your vindication, you certainly ought to take care 
of your health. Starvation is the surest leech for depleting 
soul and body. Do you want to die here in prison, leaving 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


105 


your name tarnished, and smirched with suspicion of crime, 
when you can live to proclaim your innocence to the world? 
Remember that even if you care nothing for your life, you 
owe something to your mother. You have two chances yet; 
the Grand Jury may not find a true bill — ” 

“Yes, that tiger-eyed lawyer will see that they do. He 
knows that the law is a cunning net for the feet of the 
innocent and the unwary. He set his snare dexterously, and 
will not fail to watch it.” 

“You mean Mr. Dunbar? Yes, you certainly have cause 
to dread him; but even if you should be indicted, you have 
twelve human hearts full of compassion to appeal to — and 
I can’t think it possible a jury of sane men could look at 
you and condemn you. You must fight for your life; and 
what is far more to you than life, you must fight for your 
good name, for your character. Suspicion is not proof of 
crime, and there is no taint on you yet; for sin alone 
stains, and if you will only be brave and clear yourself as 
I know you can, what a grand triumph it will be. If you 
starve yourself you seal your doom. An empty stomach will 
do you more harm than the Grand Jury and all the law- 
yers ; for it utterly upsets your nerves, and makes your brain 
whirl like a top. For three days and nights you have not 
tasted food; now just to please me, since I have taken so 
much trouble, sit down here by me, and eat what I have 
brought. I know you would rather not; I know you don’t 
want it; but, my dear child, take it like any other dose, 
which will strengthen you for your battle. It is very fine 
to rant about heroism, but starvation is the best factory for 
turning out cowards; and even the courage of old Caesar 
would have had the ‘dwindles,’ if he had been stinted in his 
rations.” 

She removed the napkin, and displayed a tempting 
luncheon, served in pretty, gilt-banded white china. Wha^ 
a contrast it presented, to the steaming tin platter and dull 
tin quart cups carried daily to the adjoining cell ? 


io6 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


Beryl laid her hand on Mrs. Singleton’s shoulder, and her 
mouth trembled. 

“I thank you, sincerely, for your sympathy — and for your 
confidence; and to show my appreciation of your kindness, 
I wish I could eat that dainty luncheon ; but I think it would 
strangle me — I have such a ceaseless aching here, in my 
throat. I feel as if I should stifle.” 

“See here! I brought you some sweet rich milk in my 
little boy’s cup. He was my first-born, and I lost him. This 
was his christening present from my mother. It is very 
precious, very sacred to me. If you will only drink what 
is in it, I shall be satisfied. Don’t slight my angel baby’s 
cup. That would hurt me.” 

She raised the pretty “Bo-Peep’^ silver cup to the pris- 
oner’s lips, and seeing the kind hazel eyes swimming in 
tears. Beryl stooped her head and drank the milk. 

The warden’s wife lifted the cup, looked wistfully at it, 
and kissed the name engraved on the metal: 

“You know now I must think you pure and worthy. I 
have given you the strongest possible proof; for only the 
good could be allowed to touch what my dead boy’s lips have 
consecrated. Now come out with me, and get some pure 
fresh air.” 

Beryl shrank back. 

“These close walls seem a friendly shelter from the hor- 
rible faces that cluster outside. You can form no idea how 
I dread contact with the vile creatures, whose crimes have 
brought them here for expiation. The thought of breathing 
the same atmosphere pollutes me. I think the loathsome- 
ness of perdition must consist in association with the de- 
praved and wicked. Not the undying flames would affright 
me, but the doom of eternal companionship with outcast 
criminals. No ! No I I would sooner freeze here, than wan- 
der in the sunshine with those hideous wretches I saw the 
day I was thrust among them.” 

“Trust me, and I will expose you to nothing unpleasant. 
Take your hat and shawl; I shall not bring you back here. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


lo; 


There is time enough for cells when you have been con- 
victed and sentenced ; and please God, you shall never stay 
in this one again. Come.” 

“Stay, madam. What is your purpose? I have been 
so hunted down, I am growing suspicious of the appearance 
of kindness. What are you going to do?” 

Mrs. Singleton took her hand and pressed it gently. 

“I am going to trust, and help, and love you, if you will 
let me; and for the present, I intend to keep you in a room 
adjoining mine, where you will have no fear of wicked 
neighbors.” 

“That will be merciful indeed. May God bless you for 
the thought.” 

Down iron staircases, and through dim corridors bordered 
with dark cells, gloomy as the lairs of wild beasts whom 
the besotted inmates resembled, the two women walked; and 
once, when a clank of chains and a hoarse human cry broke 
the dismal silence. Beryl clutched her companion’s arm, 
and her teeth chattered with horror. 

“Yes, it is awful ! That poor woman is the saddest case 
we have. She waylaid and stabbed her husband to death, 
and poisoned his mother. We think she is really insane, and 
as she is dangerous at times, it is necessary to keep her 
chained, until arrangements can be made to remove her to 
the insane asylum.” 

“I don’t wonder she is mad ! People cannot dwell here 
and retain their reason; and madness is a mercy that blesses 
them with forgetfulness.” 

Beryl shivered, and her eyes glittered with an unnatural 
and ominous brilliance. 

The warden’s wife paused before a large door with solid 
iron panels, and rang a bell. Some one on the other side 
asked : 

“What is the order? Who rang?” 

“Mrs. Singleton; I want to get into the chapel. Let me 
out, Jasper.” 


io8 AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 

The door swung slowly back, and the guard touched his 
hat respectfully. 

Through an open arcade, where the sunlight streamed, 
Mrs. Singleton led her companion; then up a short flight of 
stone steps, and they found themselves in a long room, with 
an altar railing and pulpit at one end, and rows of wooden 
benches crossing the floor from wall to wall. Even here, 
the narrow windows were iron barred, but sunshine and the 
sweet, pure breath of the outside world entered freely. 
Within the altar railing, and at the right of the reading 
desk where a Bible lay, stood a cabinet organ. Leaving 
the prisoner to walk up and down the aisle, Mrs. Singleton 
opened the organ, drew out the stops, and after waiting a 
few moments, began to play. 

At first, only a solemn prelude rolled its waves of har- 
mony through the peaceful sunny room, but soon the strains 
of the beautiful Motet “Cast thy burden on the Lord,” 
swelled like the voice of some divine consoler. Watching 
the stately figure of the prisoner who wandered to and fro, 
the warden’s wife noticed that like a magnet the music drew 
her nearer and nearer each time she approached the chan- 
cel, and at last she stood with one hand on the railing. 
The beautiful face, sharpened and drawn by mental agony, 
was piteously wan save where two scarlet spots burned on 
her cheeks, and the rigid lips were gray as some granite 
statue’s, but the eyes glowed with a strange splendor that 
almost transfigured her countenance. 

On and on glided the soft, subtle variations of the Motet, 
and gradually the strained expression of the shining eyes 
relaxed, as if the soul of the listener were drifting back 
from a far-off realm; the white lids quivered, the stern lines 
of the pale lips unbent. At that moment, the face of her 
father seemed floating on the sunbeams that gilded the pul- 
pit, and the tones of her mother’s voice rang in her ears. 
The terrible tension of many days and nights of torture gave 
way suddenly, like a silver thread long taut, which snaps 
with one last vibration. She raised her hands: 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


109 


“My God ! Why hast Thou forsaken me ?” 

The cry ended in a wail. Into her burning eyes merciful 
tears rushed, and sinking on her knees she rested against 
the railing, shaken by a storm of passionate weeping. 

Mrs. Singleton felt her own tears falling fast, but she 
played for a while longer; then stole out of the chapel, and 
sat down on the steps. 

Across the grass plot before the door, burnished pigeons 
cooed, and trod their stately minuet, their iridescent plumage 
showing every opaline splendor as the sunlight smote them; 
and on a buttress of the clock tower, a lonely hedge-sparrow 
poured his heart out in that peculiarly pathetic threnody 
which no other feathered throat contributes to the varied 
volume of bird lays. Poised on the point of an iron spike 
in the line that bristled along the wall, a mocking bird 
preened, then spread his wings, soared and finally swept 
downward, thrilling the air with the bravura of the “tum- 
bling song”; and over the rampart that shut out the world, 
drifted the refrain of a paean to peace: 

“Bob White!” “Peas ripe?” “Not quite!” 

In the vast epic of the Cosmos, evoked when the “Spirit 
of God moved upon the face of the waters” — an epic printed 
in stars on blue abysses of illimitable space; in illuminated 
type of rose leaf, primrose petal, scarlet berry on the great 
greenery of field and forest; in the rainbows that glow on 
tropical humming birds, on Himalayan pheasants, on dying 
dolphins in purple seas; and in all the riotous carnival of 
color on Nature’s palette, from shifting glory of summer 
clouds, to the steady fires of red autumn skies — we find no 
blot, no break, no blurred abortive passages, until man 
stepped into creation’s story. In the material, physical Uni- 
verse, the divine rhythm flows on, majestic, serene as 
when the “morning stars sing together” in the choral of 
praise to Him, unto whom “all seemed good”; but in the 
moral and spiritual realm evolved by humanity, what hideous 
pandemonium of discords drowns the heavenly harmony? 
What grim havoc marks the swath, when the dripping scythe 


no 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


of human sin and crime swin-gs madly, where the lilies of 
eternal “Peace on earth, good will to man,” should lift their 
silver chalices to meet the smile of God? 

A vague conception of this vexing problem, which like a 
huge carnivorous spectre, flaps its dusky wings along the 
sky of sociology, now saddened Mrs. Singleton’s medita- 
tions, as she watched the lengthening shadow cast by the 
tower upon the court-yard; but she was not addicted to ab- 
stract speculation, and the words of her favorite hymn 
epitomized her thoughts: “Though every prospect pleases, 
and only man is vile.” 

The brazen clang of the deep-throated bell rang out on the 
quiet air, and a moment later, the piercing treble of a child’s 
cry made her spring to her feet. She peeped into the chapel 
all was still. 

On tiptoe she passed swiftly down the aisle to the chancel, 
and saw the figure crouched at the altar, with one arm twined 
through the railing. For many days and nights the tor- 
tured woman had not known an instant of repose; nervous 
dread had scourged her to the verge of frenzy, but when 
the flow of long-pent tears partly extinguished the fire in 
her brain, overtaxed Nature claimed restitution, and the pris- 
oner yielded to overwhelming prostration. Death might be 
hovering near, but her twin sister sleep intervened, and 
compassionately laid her poppies on the snowy eyelids. 

Stooping close, Mrs. Singleton saw that tears yet hung 
on the black lashes which swept the flushed cheeks, but the 
parted lips were at rest, and the deep regularly drawn 
breath told her that at last the weary soul reposed in the 
peaceful domain of dreams. Deftly, and softly as thistle- 
down falls, she spread her own shawl over the drooping 
shoulders, then noiselessly hurried back to the door. Lock- 
ing it, she took the key, ran across the grass, into the ar- 
cade, and up to the great iron barrier, which the guard 
opened as she approached. With flying feet she neared her 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


III 


own apartments, whence issued the indignant wail of her 
implacable baby girl. As she opened the door, her husband 
held the disconsolate child toward her. 

“You are in time for your share of the fun; I have had 
enough and to spare. How you stand this diabolical din 
day in, day out, passes my comprehension. You had not 
been gone fifteen minutes when Missy tuned up. I patted 
and, ‘She-e-d’ her, but she got her head above cover, squinted 
around the room, and not finding you, set up a squall that 
would have scared a wildcat. The more I patted, the worse 
she screamed, and her feet and hands flew around like a 
wind-mill. I took her up, and trotted her on my knee, but 
bless you ! she squirmed like an eel, and her little bald head 
bobbed up and down faster than a di-dapper. Then I 
walked her, but I would as soon try to swing to a greased 
snake. She wriggled and bucked, and tied herself up into 

a bow knot, and yelled . Oh ! a Comanche papoose 

is a dummy to her. As if I had not hands full, arms full, 
and ears full, Dick must needs wake up and pitch head 
foremost out of the cradle, and turn a double summerset be- 
fore he landed upside down on the floor, whereupon he 
lifted up his voice, and the concert grew lively. I took him 
under one arm, so, and laid Missy over my shoulder, and it 
struck me I would join the chorus in self defence, so I 
opened with all my might on ‘Hold the Fort’ ; but great Te- 
cumseh ! I only insulted them both, and finding my fifth 
fiddle was nowhere in the fray, I feared Jarvis would hear 
the howling and ring the alarm bell, so I just sat down. I 
spread out Dick in a soft place, where he could not bump 
his brains out, and laying my lady across my lap, I held 
her down by main force, while she screamed till she was 
black in the face. If you had not come just when you did, I 
should have turned gray and cross-eyed. Hello, Missy ! If 
she is not cooing and laughing ! Little vixen 1 Oh ! but — 
‘Iambs’ ! — I believe they are ! Hereafter tend your own 
flock; and in preference I will herd young panthers.” 


1 12 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


He wiped his forehead where the perspiration stood in 
drops, and watched with amazement the sudden lull in the 
tempest. 

Clasped in her mother’s arms, the baby smiled and gur- 
gled, and Dick, drying his eyes on the maternal bosom, 
showed the exact spot where she must kiss his bruised 
head. 

“Ned, what have you done? This baby’s hair is dripping 
wet, and so is the neck of her dress.” 

“Serves her right, too. I sprinkled her, that’s all.” 

“Sprinkled her! Have you lost your senses?” 

I “Shouldn’t wonder if I had; people in bedlam are apt to 
be crazy. Yes, I sprinkled Missy, because she turned so 
black in the face, I thought she was strangling; and my 
step-mother always sprinkled me when I had a fit of tan- 
trums. But let me tell you, Missy will never be a zealous 
Baptist, she doesn’t take to water kindly.” 

“When I want my children step-mothered I will let you 
know. Give me that towel, and baby’s woollen cap hanging 
on the knob of the bureau. Bless her precious heart! if she 
does not keep you up all night, with the croup, you may 
thank your stars.” 

“Susie, just tell me how you tame them, so that next 
time—” 

“Next time, sir, I shall not trust you. I just love them, 
and they know it; that is what tames the whole world.” 

Edward Singleton stooped over his wife, and kissed her 
rosy cheek. 

“Little woman, what luck had you in No. 19?” 

“The best I could wish. I have saved that poor girl from 
brain-fever, I hope.” 

“How did you manage it?” 

“Just simply because I am a flesh and blood woman, and 
not a blundering, cast-iron man.” 

“How does she seem now?” 

“She has had a good, hearty spell of wholesome crying; 
no hysterics, mind you, but floods of tears; and now she is 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


113 

sound asleep with her head on the altar railing, in the 
chapel. I locked her up there, and here is the key. When 
she wakes, I want her brought up here, put in that room 
yonder, and left entirely to me, until her trial is over. I 
never do things half way, Ned, and you need not pucker 
your eyebrows, for I will be responsible for her. I have 
put my hand to the plough, and you are not to meddle with 
the lines, till I finish my furrow.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 

In one of the “outhouses” which constituted the servants* 
quarters, in that which common parlance denominated the 
“back-yard” at “Elm Bluff,” an old negro woman sat smok- 
ing a pipe. 

The room which she had occupied for more than forty 
years, presented a singular melange of incongruous odds 
and ends, the flotsam of a long term of service, where the 
rewards, if intrinsically incommensurate, were none the less 
invaluable, to the proud recipient. The floor was covered 
by a faded carpet, once the pride of the great drawing- 
room, but the velvet pile had disappeared beneath the arched 
insteps and high heels of lovely belles and haughty beaux, 
and the scarlet feathers and peacock plumes that originally 
glowed on the brilliant buff ground, were no longer dis- 
tinguishable. 

An old-fashioned piece of furniture, coeval with diamond 
shoe-buckles, ruffled shirts and queues, a brass bound ma- 
hogany chiffonier, with brass handles and tall brass feet 
representing cat claws, stood in one corner; and across the 
top was stretched a rusty purple velvet strip, bordered with 
tarnished gilt gimp and fringe, a fragment of the cover 
which belonged to the harp on which General Barrington’s 
grandmother had played. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


114 

The square bedstead was a marvel in size and massive- 
ness, and the heavy mahogany posts nearly black with age, 
and carved like the twisted strands of a rope, supported a 
tester lined with turkey-red pleatings, held in the centre by 
the talons of a gilt spread-eagle. So tall was the bed, 
that three steps were required to ascend it, and the space 
thus left between the mahogany and the floor, was hidden 
by a valance of white dimity, garnished with wide cotton 
fringe. Over this spacious place of repose, a patchwork 
quilt of the “rising sun” pattern displayed its gaudy rays, 
resembling some sprawling octopus, rather than the face of 
Phoebus. 

The contents of a wide mantel board flounced with fringed 
dimity, (venerable prototype of macrame and Arrasene 
lambrequins), would have filled with covetousness the soul 
of the bric-a-brac devotee; and graced the counters of Sy- 
pher. 

There were burnished brass candle-sticks, with extinguish- 
ers in the shape of prancing griffins, and snuffers of the 
same metal, fashioned after the similitude of some strange 
and presumably extinct saurian; and a Dresden china shep- 
herdess, whose shattered crook had long since disappeared, 
peeped coquettishly through the engraved crystal of a tall 
candle shade at the bloated features of a mandarin, on a 
tea-pot with a cracked spout — ^that some Barrington, stung 
by the gad-fly of travel, had brought to the homestead from 
Nanking. A rich blue glass vase poised on the back of a 
bronze swan, which had lost one wing and part of its bill 
in the combat with time, hinted at the rainbow splendors of 
its native Prague, and bewailed the captivity that degraded 
its ultra-marine depths into a receptacle for cut tobacco. 

The walls, ceiled with curled pine planks, were covered 
with a motley array of pasted and tacked pictures ; some en- 
graved, many colored, and ranging in comprehensiveness of 
designs, from Bible scenes cut from magazines, to “riots” 
in illustrated papers; and even the garish glory of circus 
and theatre posters. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


115 

In one corner stood an oak spinning-wheel, more than cen- 
tenarian in age, fallen into hopeless desuetude, but gay with 
the strings of scarlet pepper pods hung up to dry, and 
twined among its silent spokes. On a trivet provided with 
lizard feet that threatened to crawl away, rested a copper 
kettle bereft of its top, once the idol of three generations 
of Barringtons, to whom it had liberally dispensed “hot 
water tea,” in the blessed dead and embalmed era of nursery 
rule and parental power; now eschewed with its despised 
use, and packed to the brim with medicinal “yarbs,” bone- 
set, horse mint, life everlasting, and snake-root. 

In front of the fire which roared and crackled in the cav- 
ernous chimney, “Mam’ Dyce” rocked slowly, enjoying her 
clay pipe, and meditatively gazing up at an engraved por- 
trait of “Our First President,” suspended on the wall. It 
was appropriately framed in black, and where the cord that 
held it was twined around a hook, a bow and streamers of 
very brown and rusty crape fluttered, when a draught en- 
tered the apartment. 

Obese in form, and glossy black in complexion, “Mam’ 
Dyce” retained in old age the scrupulous neatness which had 
characterized her youth, when promoted to the post of seam- 
stress and ladies’ maid, she had ruled the servants’ realm 
at “Elm Bluff” with a sway as autocratic as that of Cath- 
erine over the Muscovites. Her black calico dress, donned 
as mourning for her master, was relieved by a white apron 
tied about the ample waist; a snowy handkerchief was 
crossed over the vast bosom, and a checked white and black 
turban skilfully wound in intricate folds around her gray 
head, terminated in a peculiar knot, which was the pride of 
her toilet. A beautiful spotted pointer dog with ears like 
brown satin, was lying asleep near the fire, but suddenly 
he lifted his head, rose, stretched himself and went to the 
door. A moment later it opened, and the whilom major- 
domo, Abednego, came in; put his stick in one corner, hung 
his hat on a wooden peg, and approached the fireplace. 

“Well, ole man; you know I tole you so.” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


ii6 


“You wimmen would ruther say that, than eat pound calce. 
Supposin’ you did tell me, what’s the upshot?” 

“That gimlet-eyed weasel is snuffing round you and me; 
but we won’t turn out to be spring chickens, ready picked.” 

“Which is to signify that Miss Angerline smells a mouse? 
Don’t talk parables, Dyce. What’s she done now ?” 

“She is hankering after that hankchiff. ’Pears to me, if 
she only went on four legs ’sted of two, she would sell high 
for a bloodhound.” 

“Great Nebuckadanzer ! How did she find out?” 

“Don’t ax me; ax the witches what she has in cahoot. I 
always tole you, she had the eyes of a cunjor, and she has 
sarched it out. Says she saw you when you found it ; which 
ain’t true. Eavesdrapping is her trade; she was fotch up 
on it, and her ears fit a key-hole, like a bung plugs a barrel. 
She has eavesdrapped that hankchiff chat of our’n some- 
how. Wuss than that, Bedney, she sot thar this evening 
and faced me down, that I was hiding something else; that 
I picked up something on the floor and hid it in my bosom, 
after the crowner’s inquess. Sez I : ‘Well, Miss Angerline, 
you had better sarch me and be done with it, if you are the 
judge, and the jury, and the crowner, and the law, and have 
got the job to run this case.’ Sez she, a-squinting them ven- 
omous eyes of her’n, till they looked like knitting needles 
red hot: ‘I leave the sarching to be done by the cunstable — 
when you are ’rested and handcuffed for ‘betting of murder.’ 
Then my dander riz. Sez I, ‘Crack your whip and go 
ahead! You know how, seeing you is the offspring of a 
Yankee overseer, what my marster, Gin’l Darrington, had 
’rested for beating one of our wimen, on our ‘Bend’ planta- 
tion. You and your pa is as much alike, as two shrivelled 
cow peas out’en one pod. Fetch your cunstable, and help 
yourselves.’ ” 

Dyce rose, knocked the ashes out of her pipe, and stood 
like a dusky image of an Ethiopian Bellona. 

“Drat your servigerous tongue! Now the fat’s in the 
fire, to be sho ! Ever since I tuck you for better for wuss. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


117 

I have been trying to larn you ’screshun ! and I might as 
well ’a wasted my time picking a banjo for a dead jackass 
to dance by; for you have got no more ’screshun than old 
Eve had, in confabulating with the old adversary ! Why 
couldn’t you temperlize? Sassing that white ’oman, is a 
aggervating mistake.” 

Under ordinary circumstances, Bedney and Dyce prided 
themselves on the purity of their diction, and they usually 
abstained from plantation dialect; but when embarrassed, 
frightened or excited, they invariably relapsed into the lingo 
of the “Quarters.” 

“Hush ! What’s that ? A screech owull ! Bedney, turn 
your pocket.” 

With marvellous swiftness she plunged her hand into her 
dress pocket, and turned it wrong side out, scattering the 
contents — thimble, thread, two “scalybarks,” and some 
“ground peas” over the floor. Then stooping, she slipped 
off one shoe, turned it upside down, and hung it thus on a 
horseshoe fastened to the mantel board. 

“Just lem’me know when you have appinted to hold your 
sarching, and I will make it convenient to have bizness 
consarning that bunch of horgs and cattle, I am raising on 
shares in the ‘Bend’ plantation; and you can have your 
sarching frolic,” said Bedney, too angry to heed the super- 
stitious rites. 

Dyce made a warning gesture, and listened intently. 

“I am a-thinking you will be chief cook and bottle-washer 
at that sarching, for the appintment is at hand. Don’t you 
hear Pilot baying the cunstable?” 

She sank into her rocking-chair, picked up a gray yarn 
sock, and began to knit unconcernedly; but in a significant 
tone, she added, nodding her head: 

“Hold your own hand, Bedney; don’t be pestered about 
mine. I’ll hoe my row; you ’tend to yourn.” 

Then she ' leaned back, plying her knitting needles, and 
began to chant: “Who will be the leader when the Bride- 
groom comes?” 


ii8 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


Hearing the knock on the door, her voice swelled louder, 
and Bedney, the picture of perplexity, stood filling his pipe, 
when the bolt was turned, and a gentleman holding a whip 
and wearing a long overcoat entered the room. 

“Good evening, Bedney. Are you and Dyce holding a 
camp meeting all by yourselves? I hallooed at the gate 
till your dog threatened to devour me, and I had to scare 
him off with my buggy whip.” 

“Why, how’dy. Mars Alfred? I am mighty glad to see 
you ! Seems like old times, to shake hands with you in my 
cabin. Lem’me take off your overcoat, sir, and gim’me 
your hat, and make yourself comfortable, here by the jam of 
the chimbly.” 

“No, Bedney, I can’t spare the time, and I only want a 
little business matter settled before I get back to town to 
my office. Thank you, Dyce, this is an old-time rocker sure 
enough. It is a regular ‘Sleepy Hollow.’ ” 

Mr. Churchill pushed back his hat, and held his gloved 
hand toward the fire. 

“Bedney, I want to see that handkerchief you found in 
your master’s room, the day after he was murdered.” 

“What hankchuf, Marse Alfred? I done tole everything 
I know, to the Crowner’s inquess.” 

“I dare say you did; but something was found afterward. 
I want to see it.” 

“Who has been villifying of me? You have knowed me 
ever since you was knee-high to a duck, and I — .” 

“Nobody has vilified you, but Miss Dobbs saw you exam- 
ining something, which she says you pushed up your coat 
sleeve. She thinks it was a handkerchief, but it may have 
been valuables. Now it is my duty, as District Solicitor, 
to discover and prosecute the person who killed your mas- 
ter, and you ought to render me every possible assistance. 
Any unwillingness to give your testimony, or surrender 
the articles found, will cast suspicion on you, and I should 
be sorry to have you arrested.” 

“Fore Gord, Marse Alfred, I — ” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


119 

‘‘Own up, husband. You did find a hankchef. You see, 
Marse Alfred, we helped to raise that poor young gal’s 
mother; and Bedney and me was ’votedly attached to our 
young Mistiss, Miss Ellie, and we thought ole Marster was 
too hard on her, when she run ofif with the furrin fiddler ; so 
when this awful ’fliction fell upon us and everybody was 
cusing Miss Elbe’s child of killing her own grandpa, we 
couldn’t believe no such onlikely yarn, and Bedney and me 
has done swore our vow, we will stand by that poor young 
creetur, for her ma’s sake; for our young mistiss was good 
to us, and our heart strings was ’rapped round her. We 
does not intend, if we can help it, to lend a hand in jailing 
Miss Elbe’s child, and so, after the Crowner had ’bceted 
all the facts as he said, and the verdict was made up, Bed- 
ney and me didn’t feel no crampings in our conscience, 
about holding our tongues. Another reason why we wanted 
to lay low in this hiere bizness, was that we didn’t hanker 
after sitting on the anxious seats of witnesses in the court- 
house; and being called ongodly thieves, and perjured bars, 
and turned wrong side out by the lie-yers, and told our 
livers was white, and our hearts blacker than our skins. 
Marse Alfred, Bedney and me are scared of that courti^ 
what you call the law, cuts curous contarabims sometimes, 
and when the broad axe of jestice hits, there is no telling 
whar the chips will fly; it’s wuss than hull-gull, or pitching 
heads and tails. You are a be-yer, Marse Alfred, and you 
know how it is yourself; and I beg your pardon, sir, for 
slighting the perfession; but when I was a little gal, I got 
my scare of lie-yers, and it has stuck to me like a kuckle- 
burrow. One Christmas eve jest before ole Marster got 
married, he had a egg-nog party ; and a lot of gentlemen was 
standing ’round the table in the dining-room. One of ’em 
was ole Mr. Dunbar, Marse Lennox’ father, and he axed 
ole Marster if he had saved that game rooster for him, as 
he promised. Marster told him he was very sorry, but some 
rogue had done gone and burnt some sulphur the week 
before in his hen-nous, and bagged that ’dentical rooster. 


120 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


Presently Mr. Dunbar axed if Marster would let him have 
one of the blue hen’s roosters, if he would catch the rogue 
for him before midnight Of course Marster said he would. 
Mr. Dunbar (Marse Lennox’ pa), he was practicing law 
then, had a pot full of smut on the bottom, turned upside 
down on the dining-room flo’, and he and Marster went out 
to the hen-’ouse and got a dominicker rooster and shoved 
him under the pot Then they rung the* bell, and called 
every darkey on the place into the dining-room, and made 
us stand in a line. I was a little gal then, only so high, 
but I followed my daddy in the house, and I never shall 
disremember that night, ’cause it broke up our home preach- 
ment. Mr. Dunbar made a speech, and the upshot of it 
was, that every darkey was to walk past the pot and rub his 
finger in the smut; and he swore a solemn oath, that when 
the pusson that stole that fine game rooster, touched the 
pot, the dominicker rooster would crow. As Marster called 
our names, we every one marched out and rubbed the poL 
and when all of us had tried, the rooster hadn’t crowed. 
Mr. Dunbar said there was some mistake somewhere, and 
he made us step up and show hands, and make prints on 
his hankcher; and lo, and behold! one darkey had not 
touched the pot; his forefinger was clean; so Mr. Dunbar 
says, ‘Luke, here is your thief?’ and shore ’nuff, it was our 
preacher, and he owned up. I never forgot that trick, and 
from that day ’till now, I have been more scared of a lie- 
yer, than I am of a mad dog. They is the only perfession 
that the Bible is agin, for you know they jawed our Lord 
hisself, and he said, ‘Woe ! woe ! to you lie-yers.’ Now,. 
Marse Alfred, if you have made up your mind you are gwine 
to have that hankcher, it will be bound to come; for if it 
was tied to a millstone and drapped in the sea, you lie-yers 
would float it into court; so Bedney, jest perduce what you 
found.’^ 

“That is right, Dyce; I am glad your opinion of my pro- 
fession has forced you to such a sensible conclusion. Come, 
Bedney, no balking now.” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


I2I 


Perplexed by Dyce’s tactics, Bedney stood irresolute, with 
his half-filled pipe slipping from his fingers; and he stared 
at his wife for a few seconds, hoping that some cue would 
be furnished. 

“Bedney, there’s no use in being cantankerous. If you 
won’t perduce it, I will.” 

Plunging her hand into the blue glass bowl, she pushed 
aside the tobacco, and extracted a key ; then crossed the 
room, lifted the valance of the patriarchal bed, and dragged 
out a small, old-fashioned hair trunk, ornamented with stars 
and diamonds of brass tack heads. Drawing it across the 
floor, she sat down near Mr. Churchill, and bending over, 
unlocked and opened it. After removing many articles of 
clothing, and sundry heirlooms, she lifted from the bottom 
a bundle, which she laid on her lap, and edging her chair 
closer to the Solicitor, proceeded to unfold the contents. 
The outside covering was a richly embroidered Canton crape 
shawl, originally white, now yellow as old ivory; but when 
this was unwrapped, there appeared only an ordinary sized 
brown gourd, with a long and singularly curved handle, as 
crooked as a ram’s horn. Bending one of her knitting 
needles into a hook, Dyce deftly inserted it in the neck, 
where it joined the bowl, and after manoeuvring a few 
seconds, laid down the needle, and with the aid of her 
thumb and forefinger slowly drew out a long roll, tightly 
wrapped with thread. Unwinding it, she shook the roll, and 
a small, gray object, about two inches long, dropped into 
her lap. Mr. Churchill sat leaning a little forward, as if 
intent on Dyce’s movements, but his elbow rested on the 
arm of the rocking chair, and holding his hand up to screen 
his face from the blaze of the fire, he was closely watching 
Bedney. When Dyce shook out and held up a faded, dingy 
blue silk handkerchief, the lawyer noted a sudden twinkle in 
the old man’s eyes, but no other feature moved, and he 
stooped to take a coal of fire from the hearth. 


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“There is the hankchuf that Bedney found. But mebbe 
you don’t know what this is, that I wrapped up in it, to 
bring us good luck?” 

She spread tiie handlierchief over his knee, and held up 
the small gray furry object, which had fallen from its folds. 

“Rabbit’s foot ? Let me see ; yes, that is the genuine left 
hind foot. I know all about it, because when my regiment 
was ordered to the front, my old colored Mammy— Ma’m 
Judy — who nursed me, sewed one just like that, inside the 
lining of my coat skirt. But, Dyce, that rabbit’s foot was 
not worth a button ; for the very first battle I was in, a 
cannon ball killed my horse under me, and carried away 
my coat tail— rabbit’s foot and all. Don’t pin your faith to 
left hind feet, they are fatal frauds. You are positive, this 
is the handkerchief Bedney found? It smells of asafoetida 
and camphor, and looks like it had recently been tied around 
somebody’s sore throat.” 

“Marse Alfred, I will swear on a stack of Bibles high as 
the ’Piscopal church steeple, that Bedney Barrington gim’me 
that same blue hankcher, and he said he found it. I wasn’t 
with him when he found it, but I hardly think he would ’a 
stole a’ old rag like that. I have perduced it! now if you 
want to sarch behind it, you must tackle Bedney.” 

She resumed her knitting and her lips closed like the 
spring of a steel trap. 

“Dyce, I haven’t heard the rooster crow yet. Somebody 
has fought shy of the pot. See here, I am in earnest now, 
and I will give you both a friendly word of warning. Your 
actions are so suspicious, that unless you produce the real 
article you found, I shall be obliged to send you to jail, and 
try you for the murder. How do I know that you and Bed- 
ney are not the guilty parties, instead of General Barring- 
ton’s granddaughter? This soiled rag will impose neither 
upon me, nor upon the court, and I give you five minutes 
to put into my possession the real genuine handkerchief. 
I shall know it when I see it, because it is white, with red 
spots on the border.” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


123 


“Paddle your own ‘dug out,’ Bedney, and show your 
s’creshun. If Marse Alfred wants to set the red-eyed hounds 
of the Law on an innocent ’oman, let him blow his horn.” 

She knitted assiduously, and looked composedly at her 
husband, whose lower jaw had suddenly fallen, while his 
eyelids blinked nervously, as though attacked by St. Vitus’ 
dance. 

“Only five minutes, Bedney.” 

Mr. Churchill took out his watch, and held it open. 

“You see, Marse Alfred, I — ” 

“I don’t see anything but an infernal fraud you two have 
planned. Only three minutes more. There is a constable 
waiting at the gate, and if he can not persuade you to — ” 

“Bedney, step and fetch him in, and let Marse Alfred 
see the sarching job done up all right.” 

“No, I don’t hunt foxes that way. Instead of searching 
this cabin, we will just march you both instanter out of 
these comfortable quarters, and let you try how soft the beds 
are, at the ‘State boarding-house.’ You will sleep cold on 
iron bunks, and miss your feathers and your crazy quilts. 
Time’s up.” 

He closed his watch, with a snap, and rose as he returned 
it to his pocket. 

“Hold on, Marse Alfred ! My head ain’t hard enough to 
run it plum into a wolf’s jaws. I ain’t ’sponsible for no- 
body’s acts but my own, and if Dyce have committed a pius 
fraud, in this here hank’cher bizness, to screen Miss El- 
lie’s child, why, you see yourself, I had no hand in it. I did 
find that blue ‘rag,’ as you seen fit to call it, but it was nigh 
on to twenty years ago, when I pulled it out of the breast 
pocket of a dead Yankee officer, we found lying across a 
cannon, what my old Marster’s regiment captured at the bat- 
tle of Manassas. I gin it to my wife as a screw-veneer o’ 
the war and she have treasured it accordin’. You are a 
married man yourself, Marse Alfred, and you are obleedged 
to know that wedlock is such a tight partnership, that it is 
an awfully resky thing for a man to so much as bat his eyes, 


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or squint ’em, toward the west, when the wife of his bosom 
has set her’n to the east. I have always ’lowed Dyce her 
head, ’pecially in jokes like that one she was playing on 
you just now, ’cause St. John the Baptist said a man must 
forsake father and mother and cleave unto his wife; but 
conjugular harness is one thing, and the law is another, and 
I don’t hanker after forsaking my pine-knot fire, and feather 
bed, to cleave unto jail bars, and handcuffs. I see you are 
tired of Dyce’s jokes, and you mean bizzness; and I don’t 
intend to consume no more of your valuable solicitous time. 
Dyce, fetch me that plank bottom cher to stand on.” 

“Fetch it yourself. Paddling your own canoe, means 
headin’ for the mill dam.” 

Bedney hastened to procure the designated chair, which 
he mounted in front of the mantel piece, and thence reach- 
ing up to the portrait of President Lincoln, took it carefully 
down from the hook. With the blade of his pocket-knife, 
he loosened some tacks which secured the thin pine slats at 
the back of the picture, and removed them. He took every- 
thing from the frame, and blank dismay seized him, when 
the desired object was nowhere visible. 

“Marse Alfred, I swear I tacked that hank’cher in the 
back of this here portrait, between the pasteboard and the 
brown paper, only yestiddy ; and ’fore Gord ! I haint seen it 
since.” 

Grasping his wife’s shoulder, he shook her, until her tall 
turban quivered and bent over like the Tower of Pisa, and 
Mr. Churchill saw that in his unfeigned terror, drops of per- 
spiration broke out on his wrinkled forehead. 

“Have you turned idjut, that you want us both to be de- 
voured by the roarin’ lion of the Law? My mammy named 
me Bedney, not Dani-yell, and she had oughter, for Gord 
knows, you have kept me in a fiery furnace ever since I tuck 
you for better for wurser, mostly wurser. I want that hank- 
’cher, and you’d better believe — I want it quick. I found it, 
and Pm gwine to give it up; and you have got no right to 
jeppardy my life, if you are fool enough to resk your own 


AT THE MERCY OP TIBERIUS 


125 


Stiff neck. Gim’me that hank’cher ! Fantods is played out. 
I would ruther play leap frog over a buzz-saw than — than — 
pester and rile Marse Alfred, and have the cunstable claw- 
ing my collar.” 

“You poor, pitiful, rascally, cowardly creetur ! Wharfs 
that oath you done swore, to help ’fend Miss Elbe’s child? 
And you a deacon, high in the church! If I had found 
that hank’cher, I would hide it, till Gabriel’s horn blows; 
and I would go to jail or to Jericho; and before I weuld 
give testimony agin my dear young Mistiss’s poor friend- 
less gal, I would chaw my tongue into sassage meat. That’s 
the diffunce between a palavering man full of ’screshun, 
and a ’oman who means what she says; and will stand by 
her word, if it rains fire and brimstone. Betrayin’ and 
denying the innercent, has been men’s work, ever since the 
time of Judas and Peter. Now, Marse Alfred, Bedney did 
tack the hank’cher inside the portrait of President Linkum, 
’cause we thought that was the saftest place, but I knowed 
the house would be sarched, so I jest hid it in a better place. 
Since he ain’t showed no more backbone than a saucer of 
blue-mange, I shall have to give it up; but if I had found 
it, you would never set your two eyes on it, while my head 
is warm.” 

She stooped, lifted the wide hem of her black calico skirt, 
and proceeded to pick out the stitches which held it securely. 
When she had ripped the thread about a quarter of a yard, 
she raised the edge of the unusually deep hem, and drew 
out a white handkerchief with a colored border. 

Bedney snatched it from her, and handed it to the Solic- 
itor, who leaned close to the fire, and carefully examined it. 
As he held it up by the corners, his face became very grave 
and stern, and he sighed. 

“This is evidently a lady’s handkerchief, and is so im- 
portant in the case, that I shall keep it until the trial is over. 
Bedney, come to my office by nine o’clock to-morrow, as the 
Grand Jury may ask you some questions. Good bye, Dyce, 
shake hands; for I honor your loyalty to your poor young 


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mistress, and her unfortunate child. You remind me of 
my own old mammy. Dear good soul, she was as true as 
steel.'’ 

As Mr. Churchill left the house, Bedney accompanied 
him to the gate. When he returned, the door was locked. In 
vain he demanded admittance; in vain tried the windows; 
every entrance was securely barred, and though he heard 
Dyce moving about within, she deigned no answer to his 
earnest pleadings, his vehement expostulations, or his fierce 
threats of summary vengeance. The remainder of that night 
was spent by Pilot and his irate master in the great hay 
bin of the “Elm Bluff” stables. When the sun rose next 
morning, Bedney rushed wrathful as Achilles, to resent his 
wrongs. The door of his house stood open; a fire glowed 
on the well swept hearth, where a pot of boiling coffee and 
a plate of biscuit welcomed him; but Dyce was nowhere 
visible, and a vigorous search soon convinced him she had 
left home on some pressing errand. 

Two hours later, Mrs. Singleton opened the door of the 
small room adjoining her own bedchamber, to which she had 
insisted upon removing the prisoner. 

Beryl stood leaning against the barred window', and did 
not even turn her head. 

“Here is a negro woman, begging to see you for a few 
moments. She says she is an old family servant of General 
Darrington’s.” 

Standing with her back toward the door, the prisoner 
put out one hand with a repellent gesture; 

“I have surely suffered enough from General Barring- 
ton and his friends; and I will see nobody connected with 
that fatal place, which has been a curse to me.” 

“Just as you please; but old Auntie here, says she nursed 
your mother, and on that account wants to see you.” 

Without waiting for permission, Dyce darted past the 
warden’s wife, into the room, and almost before Beryl was 
aware ©f her presence, stood beside her. 

“Are you Miss Elbe’s daughter?” 


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137 


Listlessly the girl turned and looked at her, and Dyce 
threw her arms around her slender waist, and falling on her 
knees hid her face in Beryl’s dress, sobbing passionately. 
In the violence of her emotion, she rocked back and forth, 
swaying like a reed in some fierce blast the tall form, to 
whom she clung. 

“Oh, my lovely ! my lovely ! To think you should be shut 
up here! To see Miss Ellie’s baby jailed, among the off- 
scourings of tho earth ! Oh, you beautiful white, deer ! 
tracked and tore to pieces by wolves, and hounds, and 
jackalls! Oh, honey! Just look straight at me, like you 
was facing your accusers before the bar of God, and tell me 
you didn’t kill your grandpa. Tell me you never dipped your 
pretty hands in ole Marster’s blood.” 

Tears were streaming down Dyce’s cheeks. 

“If you knew my mother, how can you think it possible 
her child could commit an awful crime?” 

“Oh, God knows — I don’t know what to think ! ’Peers 
to me the world is turned upside down. You see, honey, you 
are half and half; and while I am perfectly shore of Miss 
Ellie’s half of you, ’cause I can always swear to our side, 
the Barrington in you, I can’t testify about your pa’s side; 
he was a — a — ” 

“He was as much a gentleman, as my mother was a lady; 
and I would rather be his daughter, than call a king my 
father.” 

“I believe you ! There ain’t no drop of scrub blood in 
you, as I can see, and if you ain’t thoroughbred, ’pearances 
are deceitful. I loved your ma; I loved the very ground 
her little feet trod on. I fed her out of my own plate many 
a time, ’cause she thought her Mammy’s vittils was sweeter 
than what Mistiss ’lowed her to have; and she have slept 
in my bosom, and these arms have carried her, and hugged 
her, and — and — oh. Lord God A’mighty ! it most kills me to 
see y@u, her own little baby here! In this awful, cussed 


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den of thieves and villi-yans ! Oh, honey ! for God's sake, 
just gin me some 'surance you are as pure as you look; j»ust 
tell me your soul is a lily, like your face." 

Beryl stooped, put her hand on the turbaned head, and 
bending it back, so as to look down into the swimming eyes, 
answered : 

“If I had died when I was a month old, my baby soul 
would not have faced God any more innocent of crime then, 
than I am to-day. I had no more to do with taking Gen- 
eral Darrington's money and his life, than the archangels 
in Heaven." 

“Bless God! Now I am satisfied. Now I see my way 
dare. But it sets my blood afire to see you here; it’s a 
burning shame to put my dear young Mistiss’ child in this 
beasts’ cage. I can’t help thinking of that poor beautiful 
white deer, what Marster found crippled, down at our ‘Bend’ 
Plantation, that some vagabond had shot. Marster fotch 
it up home, and of all the pitifulist sights 1" 

Dyce had risen, and covering her face with her white 
apron, she wept for some minutes. 

“Are you not the wife of Bedney, who saved my mother’s 
life, when the barn burned?” 

“Yes, honey, I am Mam’ Dyce, and if I am spared, I will 
try to save your’n. That is what has brung me here. You 
are ’cused of the robb’ry and the murder, and you have de- 
nied it in the court; but chile, the lie-yers are aworking day 
and night fur to hang you, and little is made of much, on 
your side, and much is spun out of little, on theirn. They are 
more cunning than foxes, and bloodthirstier than panters, and 
they no more git tired than the spiders, that spin and piece 
a web as fast as you break it. Three nights ago, I got down 
on my knees, and I kissed a little pink morocco slipper what 
your Ma wore the day when she took her first step from 
my arm to her own mother’s knees, and I swore a solemn 
oath, if I could help free Miss Elbe’s child, I would do it. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


129 


Now I want to ask you one thing. Did you lose anything 
that day you come to our house, and had the talk with old 
Marster?’’ 

“Nothing, but my peace and happiness.” 

“Are you shore you didn’t drap your hank’cher?” 

“Yes, I am sure I did not, because I wrapped it around 
some chrysanthemums I gathered as I went away.” 

“Well, a lady’s hank’cher was found in Marster’s room, 
and it did smell of chloryform. Bedney picked it up, and we 
said nothing and laid low, and hid the thing; but that God- 
forsaken and predestinated sinner. Miss Angeline, kept sarch- 
ing and eavesdrapping, and set the lie-yers on the scent, 
and they have ’strained Bedney on peril of jailing him, to 
perduce it. When it got into their claws, and I thought it 
might belonk to you, my teeth chattered, and I felt like the 
back of my frock was a ice-warehouse. Now, honey, can 
you testify before God and man, that hank’cher ain’t 
yourn ?” 

“I certainly can. I had only three handkerchiefs with me 
when I left home, and I have them still. Here is one, the 
other two lie yonder. But that handkerchief is worth every- 
thing; because it must belcmg to the vile wretch who com- 
mitted the crime, and it will help to prove my innocence. 
Where is it?” 

“The Grand Jury is setting on it.” 

Here Dyce looked cautiously around, and tip-toed to the 
door; finding it ajar, closed it, then stole back. Putting her 
lips close to Beryl’s ear, she whispered: 

“Bid you lose a sleeve button?” 

“No. I did not wear any.” 

“Thank God! I feel like all the bricks in the court- 
house was lifted off my heart, and flung away. I was in fear 
and trimbling about that button, ’cause I picked it up, just 
under the aidge of the rug, where ole Marster fell, when 
he got his death blow; and as sure as the coming of the 
Judgment Day, it was drapped by the pusson who killed 
him. I was so afeared it might belonk to you, that I have 


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AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


been on the anxious seat ever since I found it; and I con- 
cluded the safest way was to bring it here to you. I am 
scared to keep it at home, ’cause them yelping wolves as 
wears the sheepskins of Justice, are on my tracks. I would 
never give it up, if I was chopped to mince meat; but Bed- 
ney ain’t got no more than enuff backbone for half of a 
man, and the lie-yers discomfrizzle him so, I could not trust 
him, when it comes to the scratch. Now that button is 
worth a heap, and I am precious careful of it. Look here.” 

She took from her pocket two large pods of red pepper, 
which looked exactly alike, but the end of one had been cut 
out around the stem, then neatly fitted back, and held in 
place by some colorless cement. Beckoning Beryl to fol- 
low, Dyce went closer to the window, and with the aid of 
her teeth drew out the stem. Into her palm rolled a cir- 
cular button of some opaque reddish-brown substance, re- 
sembling tortoise shell, and enamelled with gilt bunches 
of grapes, and inlaid leaves of mother-of-pearl. Across the 
top, embossed in gilt letters ran the word ‘‘Ricordol* 

The old woman lifted her open palm, and as Beryl saw 
the button, a gasping, gurgling sound broke from her. She 
snatched it, stared at it. Then the Gorgon head slipped 
through her fingers, she threw herself against the window, 
shook the iron bar frantically; and one desperate cry seemed 
to tear its way through her clinched teeth, over her ashy- 
lips : 

“Oh, Mother ! Mother — Mother ! You are nailing me to 
a cross.” 


CHAPTER IX. 

Nowhere in the vast vista of literature is there an episode 
more exquisitely pathetic than that serene picture of the 
Grove at Colonus, sacred to the “Semnai Theai ;” where the 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


131 

dewy freshness, the floral loveliness, the spicery, and all 
the warfeling witchery of nature pay tribute to the Avenging 
Goddesses. 

Twenty-two centuries have sifted their dust over the im- 
mortal figures seated on the marble bench within the pre- 
cincts consecrated to the Eumenides, but in deathless ten- 
acity, the rich aroma of Sophocles’ narcissus, and the soft 
crocus light linger there still; while from thickets of olive, 
nightingales break their hearts in song, as thrilling as the 
melody that smote the ears of doomed and dying QEdipus. 

So in all ages, we, born thralls of grief, lift streaming 
eyes, and chant elegies to stony-hearted Mother-Earth, but 
her starry orbs shine on, undimmed by sympathetic tears; 
her smiling lips show only sunshine in their changeless dim- 
ples, and her myriad fingers sweeping the keys of the Uni- 
versal Organ, drown our De Profundis in the rhythmic 
thunders of her Jubilate. Wailing children of Time, we 
crouch and tug at the moss-velvet, daisy-sprinkled skirts of 
the mighty Mater, praying some lullaby from her to soothe 
our pain; but human woe frets not her sublime serenity, as 
deaf as desert sphinx, she fronts the future. 

Some echo of this maddening mystery sounded in the ears 
of the lonely woman, who' clutched the bars of her dungeon, 
and stared through its iron lattice, at the peaceful, happy, 
outside world. At her feet lay X , divided by the sil- 

very river, which here rushed with arrowy swiftness under 
the gray stone arches of the bridge, and there widened into 
glassy lakelets, as if weary from the mad plunge over a 
distant rocky ledge in mid-stream, whence the dull steady 
roar of the “falls” thrilled the atmosphere, like the “tre- 
molo” in a dim cathedral, where fading daylight dies on 
painted apse and gilded pipes. As a chessboard the squares 
of buildings were spread out, defined by wide streets, where 
humanity and its traffic sped, busy as ants. In a green plot, 
the sombre faqade of the court-house surmounted by an 
eyeless stone statue of Justice, frowned on the frivolous 
throng below; and along the verge of the common, marble 


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AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


fingers pointed up to the heaven of blue that bent above 
"‘God's Acre”; while now and then, bulbous towers, and 
glittering steeple vanes, caught the sunshine on their pol- 
ished crests. Beyond the whole, and bounding the valley 
filled with a billowy sea of bluish-green pine tops, rose a 
wooded eminence, wearing still its Persian robe of autumn 
foliage, and on its brow the colonnade and chimneys of “Elm 
Bluff” blotted the southern sky, like a threatening phantom. 

To-day forest, stream, earth and sky, appeared branded 
with one fatal word, as if the world's wide page held only 
“Ricordo ! Ricordo !” 

Beryl shut her eyes and groaned; but the scene merely 
shifted to a dell under the shadow of Carrara hills, where 
olives set “Ricordo” among their silver leaves; and lemons 
painted “Ricordo” in their pale gold; and scarlet pomegran- 
ates and nodding violets, burning anemones and tender green 
of trailing maiden-hair ferns all blazoned “Ricordo.” 

The fierce tide of wrath, that indignation and her keen 
sense of outraged innocence had poured like molten lead 
through her throbbing arteries, was oozing sluggishly, con- 
gealing under the awful spell of that one word “Ricordo.” 
Hitherto, the shame of the suspicion, the degradation of 
the imprisonment had caught and empaled her thoughts ; but 
by degrees, these became dwarfed by the growing shadow 
of a possibly ignominious death, which spread its sable 
pinions along the rosy dawn of her womanhood, and de- 
voured the glorious sun of her high hopes. The freezing 
gloom was creeping nearer, and to-day she could expect no 
succo-r, save by one avenue. 

Islam believes that only the cimeter edge of A1 Sirat di- 
vides Paradise from perdition. Beryl realized that in her 
peril, she trod an equally narrow snare, over yawning ruin, 
holding by a single thread of hope that handkerchief. Weak 
natures shiver and procrastinate, shunning confirmation of 
their dread; but to this woman had come a frantic longing 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


133 


to see, to grasp, to embrace the worst. She was in a death 
grapple with appalling fate, and that handkerchief would 
decide the issue. 

Physical exhaustion was following close upon the mental 
agony that had stretched her on the rack, for so many days 
and nights. To sit still was impossible, yet in her wander- 
ing up and down the narrow room, she reeled, and sometimes 
staggered against the wall, dizzy from weakness, to which 
she would not succumb. 

Human help w^as no more possible for her, than for Moses, 
when he climbed Nebo to die; and alone with her God, the 
brave soul wrestled. Wearily she leaned against the win- 
dow bars, twining her hot fingers around them, pressing her 
forehead to the cold barrier; and everywhere ‘‘Ricordo” 
stabbed her eyes like glowing steel. 

The door opened, some words were uttered in an under- 
tone, then the bolt clicked in its socket, and Mr. Dunbar ap- 
proached the window. Mechanically Beryl glanced over 
her shoulder, and a shiver crept across her. 

“I believe you know me. Dunbar is my name.” 

He stood at her side, and they looked into each other’s 
eyes, and measured lances. Could this worn, pallid woman, 
be the same person who in the fresh vigor of her youthful 
beauty, had suggested to him on the steps of “Elm Bluff,” 
an image of Hygeia? Here insoiiciante girlhood was dead 
as Manetho’s dynasties, and years seemed to have passed 
over this auburn head since he saw it last. Human faces 
are Nature’s highest type of etchings, and mental anguish 
bites deeper than Dutch mordant; heart-ache is the keen 
needle that traces finest lines. 

“Yes, I know you only toO' well. You are Tiberius.” 

Her luminous deep eyes held his at bay, and despite his 
habitual, haughty equipoise, her crisp tone of measureless 
aversion stung him. 

“Sarcasm is an ill-selected arbiter between you and me; 
and your fate for all time, your future weal or woe is rather 


134 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


a costly shuttlecock to be tossed to and fro in a game of 
words. I do not come to bandy phrases, and in view of your 
imminent peril, I cannot quite understand your irony.” 

“Understand me? You never will. Did the bloodthirsty 
soul of Tiberius comprehend the stainless innocence of the 
victims he crushed for pastime on the rocks below Villa 
Jovis? There is but one arbiter for your hatred, the hang- 
man, to whom you would so gladly hurry me. Hunting a 
woman to the gallows is fit sport for men of your type.” 

Unable to withdraw his gaze from the magnetism of hers, 
he frowned and bit his lip. Was she feigning madness, or 
under the terrible nervous strain, did her mind wander? 

“Your language is so enigmatical, that I am forced to 
conclude you resort to this method of defence. The exigen- 
cies of professional duty compel me to assume toward you 
an attitude, as painfully embarrassing to me as it is threat- 
ening to you. Because the stern and bitter law of justice 
sometimes entails keen sorrow upon those who are forced to 
execute her decrees, is it any less obligatory upon the ap- 
pointed officers to obey the solemn behests?” 

“Justice ! Into what a frightful mockery have such as 
you degraded her worship! No wonder justice fled to the 
stars. You are the appointed officer of a harpy screaming 
for the blood of the innocent. How dare you commit your 
crimes, raise your red hands, in the sacred name of jus- 
tice? Call yourself the priest of a frantic vengeance, for 
whom some victim must be provided; and libel no more the 
attribute of Jehovah.” 

Scorn curled her lips, and beneath her glowing eyes, his 
grew restless, as panoplied in conscious innocence she 
seemed to defy attack. 

“You evidently credit me with motives of personal ani- 
mosity, which would alike disgrace my profession and my 
manhood. For your sake, rather than my own, I should like 
to remove this erroneous impression from your mind. If 
you could only understand ” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


135 

She threw up her hand, with an imperious gesture of dis- 
dain. 

“Save your sophistries; they are wasted here. Why mul- 
tiply cobwebs? I understand you. If doves have a sixth 
sense that warns them before they hear the hawk’s cry, or 
discern the shadow of his circling wings, and if mice, dumb 
in a cat’s claws, surmise the exact value of the preliminary 
caresses, the graceful antics, the fatal fondling of the vel- 
vet paw, so we, the prey of legal ‘Justice’ know instinctively 
what the swinging of censers, and the chanting of her high 
priest mean, when he draws near us. I understand you. 
You intend to hang me if you can.” 

He drew his breath with a hissing sound, and a dark flush 
stained his broad smooth brow. 

“On my honor as a gentleman, I came here to-day solely 
to—” 

“Solely to assure yourself of some doubtful link you must 
weld into your chain; solely to plunge the scalpel of some 
double-edged question. If there must be an ante mortem 
examination, we will wait, if you please, for the legal dis- 
section when I am stretched before the jury-box. Until 
then, you have no right to intrude upon the misery you 
have brought on an innocent woman.” 

They stood so near each other, that he could count the 
fierce throbbing of the artery in her round snowy throat, and 
see the shadow of her long lashes; and again some electric 
current flashed from her feverishly bright eyes, burning its 
way to the secret chambers of his selfish heart, melting the 
dross that ambition and greed had slowly cemented, and 
dropping one deathless spark into a deep adytum, of the 
existence of which he had never even dreamed. Uncon- 
sciously he leaned toward her, but she pressed back against 
the iron bars, and drew her dress aside as if shunning a 
leper. There was no petulance in the motion, but its signif- 
icance pricked him, like a dagger point. 


136 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


“It was the hope of finding you an innocent woman, that 
must plead my pardon for what you consider an unwarrant- 
able ‘intrusion/ Will you believe me, if I swear to you, 
that I have come as a friend?” 

“As a friend to me? No. As a friend to General Dar- 
rington and his adopted son Prince? Yes. Oh, Tiberius! 
Your rosy apples are flavored like those your forefather 
offered Agrippina.” 

“Do you regard me as an unscrupulous, calculating vil- 
lain, who pretending kindness, plots treachery? Do you de- 
liberately offer me this wanton insult?” 

His swart face reddened, and the fine lines of his hand- 
some mouth hardened. 

She shrank a few inches closer to the window, and com- 
pressed her lips. 

“If you were a man, I should swiftly resent the affront 
you have thrust upon me, and suitable redress would be pe- 
culiarly sweet and welcome; but you are a defenceless and 
unfortunate woman, and my hands are tied. I desire to 
help you; you repulse me and insult my manhood. I will 
do my painful duty, because it is sternly and inexorably my 
duty; but, I wish to God, I had never set my eyes on you.” 

The sudden passionate ring in his voice surprised her, 
and she looked searchingly at him, wondering into what pit- 
fall it was intended to lure her. 

“If you had never set your eyes on me? Ah, would to 
God I had died ten thousand times before I encountered 
their evil spell! If you had never set your eyes on me? I 
should be now, a happy, hopeful girl, with life beckoning 
me like the rosy Syrian plains that smiled on the desert- 
weary. The world looked so bright to me that day, when 
first I smelled the sweet resinous pines, and dreamed of my 
work, and all the glory of the victory, I knew that I should 
win over poverty and want. I was so poor in worldly goods, 
but oh ! — Croesus could not have bought my proud hopes ! 
So rich, so overflowing with high hope ! As I think of my 
feelings that day, among the primroses and pine cones, it 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


137 


seems a hundred years ago, and I recall the image of a 
girl long dead ; such a proud girl ; so happy in the beautiful 
world of the art she loved ! Then some strange awful curse 
that had lain in wait, ambushed among the flowers I gath- 
ered that last day of my dead existence, fell upon me — I 
saw you ! No wonder I shivered, when you met me. I saw 
you. Then my sun sickened and went out, and my hopes 
crumbled, and my youth shrivelled and perished forever; and 
the wide world is a rayless dungeon, and the girl Beryl is 
buried so deep, that the Angels of the Resurrection will never 
find her ! — and I ? — I am only a withered, disgraced woman, 
hurled into a den ; trampled, branded ; with a soul devoured 
by despairing bitterness, with a broken heart, a brain on 
fire ! If yon had drawn a knife across my throat, or sent a 
bullet through my temples, my spirit might have rested 
in the Beyond, and I could have forgiven that which 
hastened me to heaven; but you strangled my hopes, and 
mutilated my youth, and dishonored my father’s name ! 
— You robbed me of my stainless character, and cast me 
among outlaws and fiends ! — Worse yet, oh ! blackest of all 
your crimes ! — you have almost throttled my faith in Christ. 
You have torn away my hold upon the eternal God! You 
are the curse of my life. You wish you had never set your 
eyes on me? Take courage, finish your work; the best of 
me is utterly dead already, and when you have taken my 
blood, and laid my polluted body in a convict’s shallow 
grave, your enmity will be satiated. Then I, at least, I 
shall be free from my hideous curse. If there be any com- 
fort left me, it lurks in the knowledge that when you suc- 
ceed in convicting me, the same world will no longer hold 
us both.” 

Was it the fever of disease, or incipient madness that 
blazed in her eyes, flamed on her cheeks, and lent such thrill- 
ing cadence to her pure clear voice? Was she a consum- 
mate actress, or had he made a frightful mistake, and 
goaded an innocent girl to the verge of frenzy? Some oc- 
cult influence seemed clouding his hitherto infallible per- 


138 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


ceptions, melting his heart, paralyzing his will. He walked 
up and down the floor, with his hands clasped behind him, 
then came close to the prisoner. 

“If I have unjustly suspected and persecuted you, may 
God forgive me! If I have wronged you by suspicion 
and accusation of a crime which you did not commit, then 
my atonement shall be your triumphant vindication. I 
would give a good deal to know that your hands are as 
pure as they look, and innocent of theft and murder. Tell 
me — tell me the truth. I will save you, I will give you 
back all that you have lost, and tenfold more. For God’s 
sake, for your own sake, and for mine, I entreat you to tell 
me the truth. Did you go back to ‘Elm Bluff’ that night, 
after I met you in the pine woods?” 

His dark face was close to hers, and his keen blue eyes 
seemed to probe the recesses of her soul. If she answered, 
would the steel springs of some trap close upon her? 

“I did not go back to ‘Elm Bluff.’ My hands, my heart, 
my soul are as free from crime as they were when God 
sent them into the world. I am innocent — innocent^ — inno- 
cent as any baby only a week old, lying dead in its little 
coffin. Innocent — but defiled, disgraced ; innocent as the 
Lord Jesus was of the sins for which He died; but you 
can not save what you have destroyed. You have ruined 
my life.” 

He was a strong man, cold, collected, priding himself upon 
his superb physique, his nerves of steel; but as he watched 
and listened, he trembled, and the girl’s eyes dilated, sparkled 
through the sudden moisture that so strangely and unex- 
pectedly gathered in his own. 

“Then you must prove the truth of your solemn words; 
and it was this faint hope that induced me to come here 
to-day. Only one circumstance stands between the Grand 
Jury and your indictment for murder; and time presses. 
Now tell me, do you know this?” 

He took from his coat pocket a small parcel wrapped in 
paper, and tore off the covering. Beryl stood faint and dizzy, 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


m 


resting against the window, but erect, on guard and defiant. 
He shook out and held up a square of fine linen, daintily 
hem-stitched. Along the border ran graceful arabesques, 
swelling into scallops and dotted with stars, embroidered in 
some rich red thread ; and in one corner, enclosed in a 
wreath of exquisitely designed fuchsias, the large, elabo- 
rately ornate capitals “B. B.” were worked in fadeless scar- 
let scrolls to match the wreath. Above the drooping flowers, 
poised the red wings of a descending butterfly. Artistic 
instincts had outlined, and deft delicate touches filled in, 
with the glowing embroidery. 

Did she know it? Could she ever forget that serene May 
day when the air was liquid gold, and the Mediterranean 
molten sapphire, wreathed with pearls, as the wavelets 
crested ; when the rosy oleanders and silvery flakes of orange 
blossoms floated down upon the ferny cliff, where sitting 
by her father’s side, she had drawn this design, spreading 
the linen on the back of her father’s worn copy of Theocri- 
tus? If she lived a thousand years, would it be possible to 
forget the thin, almost transparent white hand, with its blue 
veins swollen like cords, which had gently taken the pencil 
from her fingers, and retouched and rounded the sweep of 
the curves; the dear wasted hand that she had stooped and 
kissed, as it corrected her work? 

As on the golden background of a cherished Byzantine 
picture, memory held untarnished every tint and outline of 
that blessed day, when she and her father had looked for 
the last time on the sunny sea they loved so well. 

Did fell fate hover, even then, in that sparkling perfumed 
air, and in sinister prescience trace this tangling web of 
threads, with grim intent to snare her unwary feet? 

Savants tell us, that ages ago, in the dim dawn, primeval 
rain drops made their pattering print, and left it to harden 
on the stone pages, awaiting decipherment by human eyes 
and human brains, not yet 

“Born of the brainless Nature, 

Who knew not that which she bore.” 


140 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


Is there an analogous iron chain linking the merest tri- 
fles, the frivolous accidents, the apparently worthless coin- 
cidences that swell the sum of what we are pleased to call 
the nobly independent life of the “free-agent” Man? In 
the matrix of time, do human tears and human blocKl-drops 
leave their record, to be conned when Nemesis holds her 
last assize? 

As the handkerchief swayed in the lawyer’s grasp. Beryl 
saw the red “B. B.” like a bloody brand. At that instant 
she felt that the death clutch fastened upon her throat; that 
fate had cast her adrift, on the black waves of despair. In 
her reeling brain kaleidoscopic images danced; her father’s 
face, the lateen sail of fishing boats rocking on blue bil- 
lows, white oxen browsing amid purple iris clusters; she 
heard her mother’s voice, her brother’s gay laugh; she 
smelled the prussic acid fragrance of the vivid oleanders, 
then over all, like tongues of devouring flames, flickered 
“Ricordo.” *‘B. B.” 

In the frenzy of her desperation she sprang fonvard, seized 
the arms that held up the fatal handkerchief, and shook the 
man, as if he had been an infant. Her eyes full of hor- 
ror, were fixed on the scrap of linen, and a frantic cry rang 
from her lips. 

“Father! Father! There is no hereafter for you and 
me! Prayer is but the mockery of fools! There is no 
heaven for the pure, because there is no God! No God! — 
to hear, to save the innocent who trusted in Him. Oh — no 
God!” 

Mr. Dunbar dropped the handkerchief, and as the irre- 
sistible conviction of her guilt rolled back, crushing the 
hope he had cherished a mewnent before, a spasm of pain 
seized his heart, and with a groan that would not be re- 
pressed, he covered his eyes to shut out the vision of the 
despairing woman, whose doom seemed sealed. Her right 
hand which imconsciously clutched his left shoulder, shiv- 
ered like an aspen, and he knew that for the moment she 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


141 

was entirely oblivious of his presence ; blind to everything 
but the assurance of her ruin. 

After all, he had made no mistake ; his keen insight was 
well nigh infallible; but his triumph was costly. The lus- 
cious fruit of professional success left an acrid flavor; the 
pungent dead sea ashes sifted freely. He set his heel on 
the embroidered butterfly, and in his heart cursed the hour 
he had first seen it. His coveted bread was petrifying be- 
tween his teeth. 

The grasp on his shoulder relaxed, the hand fell heavily. 
When he looked in the face of his victim, he caught his 
breath at the strange, inexplicable change a few minutes had 
wrought. Protest and resistance had come to an end. Sur- 
render was printed on every feature. The wild fury of the 
passionate struggle that convulsed her, had spent itself; 
and as after a violent wintry tempest the gale subsides, and 
the snow compassionately shrouds the scene, burying the 
dead sparrows, the bruised flowers, so submission laid her 
cold touch on this quivering face, and veiled and froze it. 

From afar the soimd of rushing waters seemed to smite 
Beryl’s ears, to surge nearer, to overflow her brain. She 
sank suddenly to the floor, clinging with one hand to the 
window bar, and her auburn head fell forward on the up- 
lifted arm. Thinking that she had fainted, Mr. Dunbar 
stooped and raised her face, holding it in his palms. The 
eyes met his, unflinching but mournful as those of a tor- 
mented deer whom the hunters drag from worrying hounds. 
She writhed, freed herself from his touch; and resting 
against the window sill, drew a long deep breath. 

“You have succeeded in your mission to-day. You have 
the only clue you needed. You have no occasion to linger. 
Now — will you leave me?” 

He picked up the handkerchief. 

“This is your handkerchief?” 

She made no answer. A leaden hand was pressing upon 
her heart, her brain, her aching eyes. 

“You have basely deceived me. You did go back that 


142 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


night, and you left this, to betray you. Saturated with 
chloroform you laid it over your grandfather’s face. Load 
your soul with no more falsehoods. Confess the deeds of 
that awful night.” 

“I did not go back. I never saw ‘Elm Bluff’ after I met 
you. I know no more of the chloroform than you do. I 
have told the truth first and last, and always. I have no 
confession to make. I am as innocent as you are. Inno- 
cent! Innocent! You are going to hang me for a crime 
I did not commit. When you do, you will murder an inno- 
cent woman.” 

She spoke slowly, solemnly, and at intervals^ as if she 
found it difficult to express her meaning. The passionless 
tone was that of one, standing where the river of death 
flowed close to her feet, and her beautiful face shone with 
the transfiguring light of conscious purity. 

‘‘Hold up your hand, and tell me this is not your hand- 
kerchief; and I will yet save you.” 

“It was my handkerchief, but I am innocent. Finish 
your work.” 

“How can you expect me to believe your contradictory 
statements ?” 

Wearily she turned her head, and looked at him. A 
strange drowsiness dimmed her vision, thickened her speech. 

“I expect nothing from you — ^but — death.” 

“Will you explain how your handkerchief chanced to be 
found on your grandfather’s pillow? Trust me, I am trying 
to believe you. Tell me.” 

In his eagerness he seized her hand, clasped it tightly, 
bent over her. She made no reply, and the silky black lashes 
sank lower, lower till they touched the violet circle suffer- 
ing had worn under her eyes. Like a lily too heavy for its 
stem, the glossy head fell upon her breast. Her hot fingers 
throbbed in his palm, and when he felt her pulse, the rapid 
bounding tide defied his counting. Kneeling beside her, he 
laid the head against his shoulder. 

“Are you ill? What is the matter? Speak to me.” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


143 


Her parched lips unclosed, and she muttered with a sigh, 
like a child falling asleep after long sobbing: 

“My handkerchief — Tiberius — my — han — ” 

She had fought against fearful odds, with sleepless nights 
and fasting days sapping her strength; and when the battle 
ended, though the will was unfaltering, physical exhaustion 
triumphed, and delirium mercifully took the tortured spirit 
into her cradling arms. 


CHAPTER X. 

When Leo Gordon celebrated her twenty-second birth- 
day, Judge Dent, appreciating the importance of familiar- 
izing her with the business details and technicalities of 
commercial usage, incident to the management of her 
large estate, had insisted upon terminating his guardianship, 
and transferring to her all responsibility for the future con- 
duct of her financial affairs. New books were placed in her 
hands, in which he required her to keep systematically and 
legibly all her accounts; she drew and signed her own 
checks, and semi-annually furnished for his inspection a 
neat balance-sheet. 

As adviser, and agent for the collection of dividends and 
rents, the change or renewal of investments, he maintained 
only ^a general supervision, and left her untrammelled the 
use of her income. As a dangerous innovation upon time- 
honored customs, which under the ante helium regime, had 
kept Southern women as ignorant of practical business rou- 
tine, as of the origin of the Weddas of Ceylon, Miss Patty 
bitterly opposed and lamented her brother’s decision; dis- 
mally predicting that the result must inevitably be the trans- 
formation of their refined, delicate, clinging “Southern lady”, 
into that abhorred monster — “a strong-minded independent 
business woman”. 

Intensely loyal to the social standard, usages and tradi- 


144 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


tions of an aristocracy, that throughout the South had 
guarded its patrician ranks with almost Brahmin jealousy, 
she sternly decried every infringement of caste custom and 
etiquette. Nature and education had combined to deprive 
her of any adaptability to the new order of tilings; and she 
rejected the idea that “a lady should transact business’’, 
with the same contemptuous indignation that would have 
greeted a proposition to wear “machine-sewed garments”, 
that last resort of impecunious plebeianism. However un- 
welcome Leo had found this assumption of the grave duties 
of mature womanhood, she met the responsibility unflinch- 
ingly, and gathered very firmly the reins transferred to her 
fair hands for guidance. Judge Dent and Miss Patty were 
the last of their family, except the orphan niece who had 
been left to their care, and as their earthly possessicms would 
ultimately descend to her, she had been reared in the con- 
viction that their house was her only home. 

Study and travel, potent factors in the march of progress, 
had so enlarged the periphery of Leo’s intellectual vision, 
that she frequently startled her prim aunt, by the enuncia- 
tion of views much too extended and cosmopditan to fit 
that haughty dame’s Procrustean limits of “Southern lady- 
hood”. Blessed with a discriminating governess and chap- 
eron, who while fostering a genuine love of the beautiful, 
had endeavored to guard her pupil from straying into any 
of those fashionable “art crazes”, which in their ephemeral 
exaggeration approach caricatures of aestheticism, Leo be- 
came deeply imbued with the spirit of classic literature and 
art; and grew especially fond of the study of Greek and 
Roman architecture. 

Believing that the similarity of climate in her native State, 
justified the revival of an archaic style of building, she ar- 
dently desired and finally obtained her uncle’s consent to the 
erection (as an addition to the Dent mansion), of a suite of 
rooms, designed in accordance with her taste, and for her 
own occupancy. Hampered by no prudential economic con- 
siderations, and fearless of criticism as regarded archaeo- 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


145 


logical anachronisms, Leo allowed herself a wide-eyed eclec- 
ticism, that resulted in a thoroughly composite structure, 
eminently satisfactory at least to its fastidious owner. A 
single story in height, it contained only four rooms, and on 
a reduced scale resembled the typical house of Pansa, ex- 
cept that the flat roof rose in the center to a dome. Con- 
stituting a western wing of the old brick mansion which it 
adjoined, the entrance fronting north, opened from a portico 
with clustered columns, into a square vestibule; which led 
directly to a large, octagonal atrium, surrounded by lofty 
fluted pillars with foliated capitals that supported the arched 
and frescoed ceiling. In the centre, a circular impluvium 
was sunk in the marble paved floor, where in summer a jet 
of spray sprang from the water on whose surface lily pads 
floated; and in winter, shelves were inserted, which held 
blooming pot plants, that were arranged in the form of a 
pyramid. The dome overarching this, was divided into three 
sections; the lower frescoed, the one above it filled with 
Etruscan designs in stained glass; the upper, formed of 
white ground glass sprinkled with gilt stars representing 
constellations, was so constructed, that it could be opened 
outward in panels, and thus admit the fresh air. 

On the east side of this atrium, Leo’s bed-room connected 
with that occupied by Miss Patty in the old house; and op- 
posite, on the west, was a large square Pompeian library, 
with dark red dado, daintily frescoed panels, and richly tinted 
glowing frieze. At the end of this apartment, and con- 
cealed by purple velvet curtains lined with rose silk, an 
arch opened into a small semi-circular chapel or oratory, 
lighted by stained glass windows, whose brilliant hues fell 
on a marble altar upheld by two kneeling figures; and here 
lay the family Bible of Leo’s great-grandfather, Duncan 
Gordon, with tall bronze candelabra on each side, holding 
wax candles. At the right of two marble steps that led to 
the altar, was spread a rug, and upon this stood an ebony 
reading-desk where a prayer-book rested. Filling a niche 
in the wall on the left side, the gilded pipes of an organ 


146 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


rose to meet a marble console that supported a Greek cross. 

In order to secure an unobstructed vista from the front 
door, that portion of the building which corresponded to the 
ancient tablinum, was used merely as an aviary, where 
handsome brass cages of various shapes showed through 
their burnished wires snowy cockatoos, gaudy paroquets, 
green and gold canaries, flaming red and vivid blue birds, 
and one huge white owl, whose favorite perch when al- 
lowed his freedom, was a bronze Pallas on a projecting 
bracket. 

Conspicuous among these, was a peculiar cage made of 
tortoise shell, ivory and silver wire, which Leo had assigned 
to a scarlet-crested, crimson-throated Australian cockatoo. 
Beyond this undraped rear vestibule stretched the peristyle, 
a parallelogram, surrounded by a lofty colonnade. The cen- 
tre of this space was adorned by a rockery whence a foun- 
tain rose; flower beds of brilliant annuals and coleus en- 
circled it like a mosaic, and the ground was studded with 
orange and lemon trees, banana and pineapple plants; while 
at the farther side delicate exotic grape vines were trained 
from column to column. 

In summer this beautiful court was entirely open to the 
sky, but at the approach of winter a movable framework of 
iron pillars was erected, which supported a glass roof, that 
sloped southward, and garnered heat and sunshine. Neither 
chimneys nor fireplaces were visible, but a hidden furnace 
thoroughly warmed the entire house, and in each apartment 
the registers represented braziers of classic design. 

Except for the external entrances, doors had been abol- 
ished; portieres of plush, satin, and Oriental silk closed all 
openings in winter; and during long sultry Southern sum- 
mers were replaced by draperies of lace, and wicker-work 
screens where growing ivy and smilax trained their cool 
green leaves, and graceful tendrils. Wooden floors had ac- 
companied the doors to Coventry; and everywhere squares 
of marble, and lemon and blue tiles showed shimmering sur- 
faces between the costly rugs, and fur robes scattered lav- 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


147 


ishly about the rooms. Surrounded by a gilded wreath of 
olive leaves, and incised on an architrave fronting the vesti- 
bule, the golden ''Salve"' greeted visitors; just beneath it, on 
an antique shaped table of topaz-veined onyx, stood a Vulci 
black bowl or vase, decorated in vermilion with Bacchanal 
figures ; and this Leo filled in summer with creamy roses, in 
winter, with camellias. Where the shrines and Lares stood 
in ancient houses, a square, burnished copper pedestal fash- 
ioned like an altar had been placed, and upon it rose from a 
bed of carved lilies, a copy in white marble of Palmer’s 
“Faith”. 

From the front portico, one could look through the vesti- 
bule, the atrium, the aviary, and on into the peristyle, where 
among vine branches and lemon boughs, the vista was closed 
by a flight of stone steps with carved cedar balustrade, lead- 
ing up to the flat roof, where it sometimes pleased the mis- 
tress to take her tea, or watch the sunset. In selecting and 
ordering designs for the furniture, a strict adherence to 
archaic types had been observed; hence the couches, divans, 
chairs, and tables, the pottery and bric-a-brac, the mirrors 
and draperies, were severely classic. 

An expensive whim certainly, far exceeding the original 
estimate of its cost ; and Miss Patty bewailed the “wicked 
extravagance of squandering money that would have built 
a handsome church, and supported for life two missionaries 
in mid-China”; but Judge Dent encouraged and approved, 
reviving his classical studies to facilitate the successful ac- 
complishment of the scheme. When the structure was com- 
pleted and Leo declared herself perfectly satisfied with the 
result, it was her uncle who had proposed to celebrate her 
twenty-fourth birthday by a mask-ball in which every cos- 
tume should be classic, distinctively Roman or Greek; and 
where the midsum dispensed to the guests should be mixed 
in a genuine Cratera. 

To this brilliant fete, one cloudless June night, friends 
from distant States were invited; and fragrant with the 
breath of its glowing roses, the occasion became memorable, 


148 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


embalmed forever in Leo’s happy heart, because then and 
there, beside the fountain in the peristyle, she had pledged 
her hand and faith to Mr. Dunbar. 

Sitting to-day in front of the library window, whence she 
had looped back the crimson curtains, to admit the Novem- 
ber sunshine, Leo was absorbed in reading the description 
of the private Ambar-valia celebrated by Marius at “White 
Nights”. Under the spell of the Apostle of Culture, whose 
golden precept: perfect in regard to what is here and 

now/* had appealed powerfully to her earnest exalted na- 
ture, she failed to observe the signals of her pet ring-doves 
cooing on the ledge outside. Finally their importunate tap- 
ping on the glass arrested her attention, and she raised the 
sash and scattered a handful of rice and millet seed ; where- 
upon a cloud of dainty wings swept down, and into the li- 
brary, hovering around her sunny head, and pecking the 
food from her open palms. One dove seemed particularly 
attracted by the glitter of the diamond in her engagement 
ring, and perched on her wrist, made repeated attempts to 
dislodge the jewel from its crown setting. Playfully she 
shook it off several times, and amused by its pertinacity, 
finally closed her hands over it, and rubbed her soft cheek 
against the delicate silvery plumage. 

“No, no, you saucy scamp! I can’t afford to feed you on 
diamonds from my sacred ring! Did you get your greedy 
nature from some sable Dodonean ancestress? If we had 
lived three thousand years ago, I might be superstitious, 
and construe your freak into an oracular protest against my 
engagement. Feathered augurs survive their shrines. Clear 
out ! you heretic !” 

As she tossed it into the garden and closed the window, 
the portiere of the library was drawn aside, and her maid 
approached, followed by a female figure draped in a shawl, 
and wearing a lofty turban. 

“Miss LeO', Aunt Dyce wants to see you on some particu- 
lar business.” 

“Howdy do, Aunt Dyce? It is a long time since you paid 


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us a visit. Justine, push up a chair for her, and then open 
the cages and let the birds out for an hour. What is the 
matter. Aunt Dyce, you look troubled? Sit down, and tell 
me your tribulations.” 

“Yes, Miss Leo, I am in deep waters; up to my chin in 
trouble, and my heart is dragging me down; for it’s heavier 
’an a bushel of lead. You don’t remember your own ma, 
do you?” 

“I wish I did; but I was only five months old when I 
lost her.” 

“Well, if she was living to-day, she would stretch her 
two hands and pull me out of muddy waves; and that’s why 
I have come to you. You see. Miss Marcia and my young 
Mistiss, Miss Ellice, was bosom friends, playmates, and like 
sisters. They named their dolls after one another, and 
many a time your ma brought her wax doll to our house, 
for me to dress it just like Miss Ellice’s, ’cause I was the 
seamstus in our family, and I always humored the childun 
about their doll clothes. They had their candy pullins, and 
their birthday frolics, and their shetlan’ ponies no bigger ’an 
dogs, and, oh Lord ! what blessed happy times them was ! 
Now, your ma’s in glory, and you is the richest belle in the 
State ; and my poor young mistiss is in the worst puggatory, 
the one that comes before death ; and her child, her daughter 
that oughter be living in style at ‘Elm Bluff’, like you are 
here, where is she? Where is she? Flung down among 
vilyans and mallyfactors, and the very off-scourings of crea- 
tion, in the penitenchery ! ’Pears to me like, if old mistiss 
is as high-headed and proud as she was in this world, her 
speerit would tear down the walls and set her grandchild 
free. When I saw that beautiful young thing beating her 
white hands agin the iron bars, it went to my heart like a 
carving knife, and — ” 

Dyce burst into tears, and covered her face with her 
apron. Leo patted her shoulder softly, and essayed to com- 
fort her. 

“Don’t cry so bitterly ; try to be hopeful. It is very, very 


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150 

sad, but if she is innocent, her stay in prison will be short/’ 

‘There ain’t no ‘ifs’ — when it comes to ’cusing my mistiss’ 
child of stealing and murdering. Suppose the sheriff was to 
light down here this minute, and grab you up and tell folks 
’spectable witnesses swore you broke open your Uncle 
Mitchell’s safe, and brained him with a handi’on? V/ould 
you think it friendly for people to say, if she didn’t they 
will soon turn her aloose? Would that be any warm poultice 
to your hurt feelin’s? It’s the stinging shame and the awful 
disgrace of being ’spicioned, that you never would forgive.” 

“Yes, it is very dreadful, and I pity the poor girl; but it 
seems that appearances are all against her, and I fear she 
will find it difficult to explain some circumstances.” 

“If your ma was here to-day, she wouldn’t say that. 
When she was a friend, she was stone deaf and mole blind 
to every evil report agin them she loved. Miss Marcia 
would go straight to that jail, and put her arms ’round Miss 
Ellice’s child, and stand by her till her last breath; and the 
more she was pussecuted, the closer she would stick. Miss 
Leo, you must take your ma’s place, you must heir her 
friendship just like you do her other property. I have come 
to you, ’cause I am going away to New York, and can’t 
feel easy ’till you promise me you will do what you can. 
Miss Ellice is laying at the pint of death, and her poor 
child is so deestracted about her needing comforts, that I 
tole her I’de go on an’ nuss her ma for her, ’till she was 
sot free and could hurry back. I dreampt last night that 
ole mistiss called me and Bedney, and said ‘Take good care 
of Ellice’; and I got right out of bed and packed my trunk. 
I’m just from the penitenchery, and that poor tormented 
child don’t know me, don’t know nothing. Trouble have 
run her plum crazy, and what with brain fever and them 
lie-yers, God only knows what’s to become of her. Handi’ons 
ain’t the only godforsaken things folks are murdered with. 
Miss Leo, promise me you will go to see her while I am 
gone, and ’tend to it that she has good nussing.” 

“I will do what is possible for her comfort ; and as it will 


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151 

be an expensive journey to you, I will also help you to pay 
your passage to New York. How much money—” 

“I don’t want your money, Miss Leo. Bedney and me 
never is beholdin’ to nobody for money. We was too sharp 
to drap our savings in the ‘Freedman’s Bank’, ’cause we 
’spicioned the bottom was not soddered tight, and Marster’s 
britches’ pocket was a good enough bank for us. We don’t 
need to beg, borrow, nor steal. As I tole you, I was the 
seamstress, and just before Miss Ellice run away from the 
school, ole mistiss had a fine lot of bran-new clothes made 
ready for her when she come home to be a young lady. She 
never did come home, and when ole mistiss died I jist tuck 
them new clothes I had made, and packed ’em in a wooden 
ehist, and kept ’em hid away; ’cause I was determed nobody 
but Miss Ellice should wear ’em. I’ve hid ’em twenty-three 
years, and now I’ve had ’em done up, and one-half I tuck 
to that jail, for that poor young thing, and the rest of ’em 
I’m gwine to carry to Miss Ellice. They shan’t need money 
nor clothes; for Bedney and me has got too much famly 
pride to let outsiders do for our own folks; but Miss Leo, 
you can do what nobody else in this wide world can. I ain’t 
a gwine to walk the devil ’round the stump, and you mustn’t 
take no ’fence when I jumps plum to the pint. Mars Lennox 
is huntin’ down Miss Ellice’s child like a hungry hound 
runs a rabbit, and I want you to call him off. If he thinks 
half as much of you as he oughter, you can stop him. Oh, 
Miss Leo, for God’s sake — call him off — muzzle him!” 

Leo rose haughtily, and a quick flush fired her cheek; but 
as she looked at the old woman’s quivering mouth and 
streaming eyes, compassion arrested her displeasure. 

“Aunt Dyce, there are some things with which ladies 
should not meddle; and I cannot interfere with any gentle- 
man’s business affairs.” 

“Oh, honey! if Miss Marcia was living, she wouldn’t say 
that! She would just put her arm round Miss Beryl and 
tell Mars Lenrtox: ‘If you help to hang my friend’s child, 
you shan’t marry my daughter !’ Your ma had pluck enuff 


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to stop him. Mark what I say ; that poor child is innercent, 
and the Lord will clear up everything some day, and then 
He will require the blood of them that condemned the inner- 
cent. Suppos’n appearances are agin her? Wasn’t appear- 
ances all agin Joseph’s bruthren when the money and the 
silver cup was found in their bags, and them afleein home? 
And if the ’Gyptian lie-yers could have got their claws on 
that case, don’t you know they would have proved them 
innercent boys guilty, and a hung em? Oh, I am afeerd of 
Mars Lennox, for he favors his pa mightily; he has got the 
keenest scent of all the pack; and he went up yonder, and 
’cused, and ’bused, and browbeat and aggervated and tor- 
mented that poor, helpless young creetur, ’till she fell down 
in a dead faint on the jail floor; and sence then, the Doctor 
says her mind is done clean gone. Don’t get mad with 
me. Miss Leo; I am bound to dare my conscience, and now 
I have done all I could, I am gwine to leave my poor young 
mistiss’ child in God’s hands, and in yourn, Miss Leo; and 
when I come back, you must gim’me an account of your 
stewudship. You are enuflf like Miss Marcia, not to shirk 
your duty; and as you do, by that pussecuted child, I pray 
the Lord to do by you.” 

She~ seized Leo’s hand, kissed it, and left the room. 

For some moments Leo sat, with one finger between the 
creamy leaves of her favorite book, but the charm was 
broken; her thoughts wandered far from the stories of 
Apuleius, and the oration of Aurelius, and after mature 
deliberation, she put aside the volume and rang the library 
bell. 

“Justine, is Mrs. Graham here?” 

“She is coming now; I see the carriage at the gate.” 

“Do net invite her into Aunt Patty’s room, until I have 
seen her. Tell Andrew to harness Gypsy, and bring my 
phaeton to the door; and Justine, carry my felt hat, driving 
gloves and fur jacket to Atmt Patty’s room.” 

Confined to her bed by a severe attack of her chronic foe, 
inflammatory rheumatism. Miss Dent had sent for her dear- 


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153 


est friend and faithful colleague in church work, Mrs. 
Graham, who came to spend a day and night, and discuss 
the affairs of the parish. 

“Aunt Patty, Mrs. Graham is in the parlor, and as I am 
well aware you can both cheerfully dispense with my society 
for the present, I am going into town. Dyce Barrington 
has been here, and I have promised to go and see that 
unfortunate girl who is in prison.” 

“Leo Gordon, you don’t mean to tell me that you are 
going into the penitentiary !” 

“Why not?” 

“It is highly improper for a young lady to visit such 
places, and I am astonished that you should feel any inclina- 
tion to see the countenances of the depraved wretches herded 
there. I totally disapprove of such an incomprehensible 
freak.” 

“Then I will hold the scheme in abeyance, until I ask 
Uncle Mitchell’s advice. I shall call at his office, and re- 
quest him to go with me.” 

“Don’t you know that the Grand Jury brought in a true 
bill against that young woman? She is indicted for mur- 
der, robbery and the destruction of her grandfather’s will. 
Mitchell tells me the evidence is overwhelming against her, 
and you know he was disposed to defend her at first.” 

“Yes, Aunty, I am aware that everything looks black for 
the unfortunate girl; but I learn she is very ill, and as it 
cannot possibly injure me to endeavor to contribute to her 
physical comfort, I shall go and see her, unless Uncle 
Mitchell refuses his consent to my visit to the prison.” 

“But, Leo, what do you suppose Mr. Dunbar will think 
and say, when he hears of this extraordinary procedure?” 

“Mr. Dunbar is neither the custodian of my conscience, 
nor the guardian and dictator of my actions. Good-bye, 
Aunty dear. Justine, show Mrs. Graham in.” 

“Mr. Dunbar will never forgive such a step; because, 
like all other men, no matter how much license he allows 


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himself, he is very exacting and fastidious about the de- 
meanor of his lady-love.’* 

‘‘I shall not ask absolution of Mr. Dunbar, and I hope my 
womanly intuitions are a safer and more refined guide, than 
any man’s fastidiousness. Remember, Aunt Patty, religion’s 
holiest work consists in ministering to souls steeped in sin. 
Are we too pure to follow where Christ led the way?” 


CHAPTER XL 

*‘Madam^ I ordered the prisoner’s head shaved. Did you 
understand my instructions?” 

‘‘Yes, sir.” 

“Why were my orders not obeyed?” 

“Because I don’t intend you shall make a convict of her, 
before she has been tried and sentenced. She has the most 
glorious suit of hair I ever looked at, and I shall save it till 
the last moment. Doctor Moffat, you need not swear and 
fume, for I don’t allow even my husband to talk ugly to 
me. You directed a blister put on the back of the neck, as 
close as possible to the skull; it is there, and it is drawing 
fast enough to satisfy any reasonable person. I divided the 
hair into four braids and plaited them, and you can see I 
have hung up the ends here just loose enough to save any 
pulling, and yet the hair is out of the way, so that I keep 
her head cool with this India-rubber ice-bag. I will be re- 
sponsible for the blister.” 

Mrs. Singleton spread her arms over the sick girl, as a 
hen shelters her brood from a swooping hawk. 

“But, Susie, the Doctor knows better what is — ” 

“Hush, Ned. Perhaps he does; but I ‘detailed’ myself to 
nurse this case; and I don’t propose to surrender all my 
common sense, and all my womanly judgment, and maternal 
experience, in order to keep the Doctor in a good humor. 
I will have my own head shaved before hers shall be 
touched.” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


15s 

Mr. Singleton discreetly withdrew from the conference, 
softly closing the door behind him; and Doctor Moffat bent 
over the thermometer with which he was testing the tem- 
perature. When he raised his head, a kindly smile lurked 
in his deep set eyes: 

“I can’t afford to quarrel with you, madam; you are too 
faithful and watchful a nurse. After all, the chances are, 
that it will ultimately make very little difference; she grows 
worse so rapidly. I will come in again before bed-time, and 
meanwhile make no change in the medicine.” 

The warden’s wife replenished the ice in a bowl, whence 
a tube supplied the cap or bag on the head of the sufferer, 
and taking a child’s apron from her work-basket on the 
floor, resumed her sewing. After a while, the door opened 
noiselessly, and glancing up, she saw Mr. Dunbar. 

“May I come in?” 

“Yes. You need repentance; and this is a good place to 
begin.” 

“Is there any change?” 

“Only for the worse. No need now to tip-toe; she is 
beyond being disturbed by noise. I think the first sound she 
will notice, will be the harps of the angels.” 

“I trust the case is not so hopeless?” 

“Queer heart you must have! You are afraid she will 
slip through your fingers, and get to heaven without the help 
of the gallows and the black cap? Death cheats even the 
lawyers, sometimes, and seems to be snatching at your prey. 
You don’t believe in prayer, and you have no time to Vv^aste 
that way. I do ; and I get down here constantly on my 
knees, and pray to my God to take this poor young thing 
out of the world now, before you all convict her, and punish 
her for crimes she never committed.” 

“Madam, her conviction would grieve me as much as it 
possibly could you; and unless she can vindicate herself, I 
earnestly hope she may never recover her consciousness.” 

The unmistakable sincerity of his tone surprised the little 


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156 

woman, and scanning him keenly as he stood, hat in hand, 
at the foot of the cot, her heart relented toward him. 

“You still consider her guilty?” 

“Since my last interview with her, I have arrived at no 
conclusion. Whether she be innocent or guilty, is known 
only by her, and her God. All human judgments in such 
cases are but guesses at the truth. Is she entirely uncon- 
scious, or has she lucid intervals?” 

“Mr. Dunbar, on your honor as a gentleman, answer 
me. Are you here hunting evidence on a death-bed ? Would 
you be so diabolical as to use against her any utterances of 
delirium ?” 

The flash of his eyes reminded her of the peculiar blue 
flame that leaps from a glowing bed of anthracite coal ; and 
she had her reply before his lips moved. 

“Am I a butcher, madam? Your insinuations are so in- 
sulting to my manhood, that it is difficult for me to remem- 
ber my interrogator is a lady; doubly difficult for me to 
show you the courtesy your sex demands. Sooner than 
betray the secrets of a sick room, or violate the sanctity of 
the confidence which that poor girl’s condition enjoins, I 
would cut ofif my right arm.” 

“I intend no discourtesy, sir; but my feelings are so 
deeply enlisted, that I cannot stop to choose and pick 
phrases, in talking to the person who caused that child to be 
shut up here. She thinks you are the most vindictive and 
dangerous enemy she has ; and I had no reason to contradict 
her. Don’t be offended, Mr. Dunbar.” 

He deigned no answer, but the dilation of his thin nostrils, 
and the stern contraction of his handsome lips, attested his 
wrath. Mrs. Singleton rose and laid her fingers on his coat 
sleeve. 

“If I felt sure I could trust you — ” 

“I decline your confidence. Madam, if I could only tell 
you, that your vile suspicions are too contemptible to merit 
the indignation they arouse, I should to some extent feel 
relieved.” 


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157 


“Then having said it, I 'will let you off without an apol- 
ogy; and wipe the slate, and start fresh. You are sensitive 
about your honor, and I am determined to find out just how 
much it is worth. Trusting you as an honorable gentleman, 
I am going to ask you to do something for me, which may 
be of service to my patient; and I ask it, because I have 
unlimited faith in your skill. Find out who ‘Ricordo’ is.” 

“Why? I must thoroughly understand the import of 
whatever I undertake, and if your reasons are too sacred to 
be communicated to me, you must select some other agent. 
I do not solicit your confidence, mark you; but I must know 
all, or nothing.” 

“The day she was taken so ill, I was undressing her, and 
she looked at me very strangely, and said she believed she 
was losing her mind. Then she raised her hands and prayed : 

“ ‘Lord, be merciful ! Lord, seal my lips ! Seal my lips !’ 

“Since then she has not known me, but several times she 
cried out ‘Ricordo’ ! Last night she sat up suddenly, and 
stared at something she seemed to see right before her in 
the air. She shook her head at first, and said — ‘Oh, no! it 
cannot be possible’. Then she clutched at some invisible 
object, and a look of horror came into her eyes. She struck 
her palms together, and I never heard such an agonizing 
cry, ‘There is no help ! I must believe it — oh Ricordo ! — 
Ricordo — Ricordo’. She fell back and shivered as if she 
had an ague. I tried to soothe her, and told her she had 
a bad dream. She kept saying: ‘Oh, horrible — it was, it was 
Ricordo!’ Once, early this morning, she pulled me down to 
her and whispered: ‘Don’t tell mother — it would break her 
heart to know it was Ricordo !’ She has not spoken dis- 
tinctly since, though she mutters to herself. Now, Mr. 
Dunbar, if I did not feel as sure of her innocence as I am 
of my own, I should never tell you this ; but I want your aid 
to hunt and catch this ‘Ricordo’, because I am satisfied it 
will help to clear her.” 

“Was it not ‘Ricardo’?” 


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AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


“No, sir — it sounded as if spelled with an o not an a — 
and it was *Ricordo\'' 

“Ricardo is a proper name, but I am under the impres- 
sion that 'Ricordo' is an Italian word that means simply a 
remembrance, a souvenir, sometimes a warning. I am glad, 
however, to have the clue, and I will do all I can to dis- 
cover what connection exists between that word, and the 
crime. Can you tell me nothing more?” 

“Sometimes she seems to be drawing and painting, and 
talks to her father about pictures ; and once she said : 
‘Hush! hush — mother is ill. She must not know I died, 
because I promised her I would bear everything. She made 
me promise’.” 

At this moment the keen wail of a young child, sum- 
moned the warden’s wife to her own apartment, and Mr. 
Dunbar sat down in the rocking-chair beside the iron cot. 

In that strange terra incognita, the realm of psychology, 
are there hidden laws that defy alike the ravages of cerebral 
disease, and the intuitions of the moral nature; inexorable as 
the atomic affinities, the molecular attractions that govern 
crystallization? Is the day dawning, when the phenomena 
of hypnotism will be analyzed and formulated as accurately 
as the symbols of chemistry, or the constituents of proto- 
plasm, or the weird chromatics of spectroscopy? 

Beryl’s head, that hitherto had turned restlessly on its 
pillow, became motionless; the closed eyes opened suddenly, 
fastened upon the lawyer’s; and some inexplicable influence 
impelled her to stretch out her hand to him. 

“Tiberius, you have come for me.” 

“I have come to ask if you are better to-day.” 

Her burning fingers closed tightly over his, and the fever 
flamie lent an indescribable splendor to eyes that seemed to 
penetrate his heart. Bending over her, he gently lifted a 
shining fold of hair from her white temple, and still clasp- 
ing her hand, said in a low voice: ' 

“Beryl, do you know me? Are you better?” 


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159 


“Wait till I finish the sketch from San Michele, After 
I am hung, you will sell it. The light is so lovely.” 

Up down, her right hand moved through the air, 
making imaginary strokes as on canvas, but her luminous 
gaze, held by some powerful fascination, never left his. 
The gray depths had darkened, swallowed by the widening 
pupils that made them almost black; and as Mr. Dunbar 
recognized the complete surrender of physical and mental 
faculties, her helplessness stirred some unknown sea of 
tenderness in the man’s hard, practical, realistic nature. 

Phlegmatic rather than emotional, and wholly secretive, 
he had accustomed himself to regard romantic ideality, and 
susceptibility to sentimentality as a species of intellectual 
anaemia; holding himself always thoroughly in hand, when 
subjected to the softening influences that now and then 
invaded professional existence, and melted the conventional 
selfish crust over the hearts of his colleagues, as the warm 
lips and balmy breath of equatorial currents kiss away the 
jagged ledges of drifting icebergs. In his laborious life, 
that which is ordinarily denominated “love” had been so 
insignificant a factor, that he had never computed its po- 
tentiality; much less realized its tremendous importance in 
solving the problem of his social, financial, and professional 
success. Beauty had not allured, nor grace enthralled his 
fancy; and his betrothal was a mere incident in the quiet 
tenor of business routine, a necessary means for the accom- 
plishment of a cherished plan. 

To-day, while those hot slender fingers clung to his, and 
he leaned over the pillow, watching his victim, a rising tide 
surged, rolled up from some unexplored ocean of strange 
sensations, and its devouring waves threatened to demolish 
and engulf the stately structure pride and ambition had 
combined to rear. A brilliant alliance that insured great 
wealth, that promised a secure stepping-stone to political 
preferment, was apparently a substantial bulwark against 
the swelling billov/s of an unaccountable whim; yet he was 
impotent to resist the yearning tenderness which impelled 


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him to forget all else, in one determined effort to rescue 
and shelter the life he had been the chief agent in im- 
perilling. Clear eyed, keen witted, he did not for ar instant 
deceive himself; and he knew that neither compassion for 
misfortune, nor yet a chivalrous remorse for having con- 
signed a helpless woman to a dungeon, explained this new 
emotion that threatened to dominate all others. 

Cool reason assured him that under existing entangle- 
ments, the girl’s speedy death would prove the most felici- 
tous solution of this devouring riddle, which so unexpectedly 
crossed his smooth path ; then what meant the vehement 
protest of his throbbing heart, the passionate longing to 
snatch her from disease, and disgrace, and keep her safe 
forever in the close cordon of his arms? 

The door was cautiously opened and closed, and noise- 
lessly as a phantom, Leo Gordon stood within the room. 
One swift survey enabled her to grasp all the details. The 
small, comfortless, dismal apartment, the barred narrow 
window, the bare floor, the low iron cot in one corner, with 
its beautiful burden; the watching attitude of the man, who 
for years had possessed her heart. Resting one elbow on 
his knee, his chin leaned on his left hand, but the light fell 
full on his handsome face, and she started, marvelled at the 
expression of the brilliant eyes fixed upon the sufferer; eyes 
suffused and eloquent with tenderness, never before seen in 
their cold sparkling depths. 

Mighty indeed must be the compassion, evocative of that 
intense yearning look in his usually guarded, irresponsive 
countenance. A painfully humiliating sense of her own 
personal incompetence to arouse the feeling, so legibly 
printed on her lo\-er’s features, jarred upon Leo’s heart like 
a twanging dissonance breaking the harmonious flow of 
minor chords; but a noble pity strangled this jealous thrill, 
and she softly approached the cot. 

The rustle of her dress attracted his attention, and 
glancing up, he saw his betrothed at his side. One might 
have counted ten, while they silently regarded each other; 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


i6i 


and as if conscious of having unmasked some disloyalty, 
scarcely yet acknowledged to himself, haughty defiance 
hardened and darkened his face. Involuntarily his hold on 
Beryl’s fingers tightened. 

“Prison wards are not proper fields for the cultivation 
and display of Miss Gordon’s amateur kid glove charity. I 
hope, at least, it was a species of exaggerated hagh-flown 
sentimentality, rather than mere feminine curiosity that 
tempted you to precincts revolting to the delicacy and refine- 
ment with which my imagination invested you.” 

“My motives I shall not submit to the crucible of your 
criticism; and a little reflection will probably suggest to you, 
that perhaps you are unduly enlarging the limits, and pre- 
maturely exercising the rights of anticipated censorship. 
There are blunders that trench closely upon the borders of 
crime, and if professional zeal has betrayed you into the 
commission of a great wrong upon an innocent woivan, it is 
a sacred duty to your victim, as well as my privilege as 
your betrothed, to alleviate her suffering as much ai possi- 
ble, and to repair the injury for which you are respi^nsible. 
When human life and reputation are at stake, hypercritical 
fastidiousness is less pardonable than the deplorable mistake 
that endangers both.” 

“And if I have not blundered; and she be guilty?” 

“Then your presence here, can only be explained by mo* 
fives so malignant and contemptible, that I blush to ascrih' 
them to you.” 

“If I am morbidly sensitive about your line of conduct 
you should understand and pardon my jealous espionage.” 

“If I, realizing that you are not infallible, entertain 3 
nervous dread that unintentionally you may have inflicted ar 
irreparable wrong, you at least should not feel offende'd. 
because I am sensitive as regards reflections upon your 
honor as a gentleman, and your astuteness as a lawyer.” 

Her fair face had flushed; his grew pale. 

“Leo, is this to be ©ur first quarrel?” 

“If so, you are entitled to the role of protagonist.” 


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He put out his left hand, and took hers, while his right 
was closely clasping one that lay upon the chintz coverlid. 

What strange obliquity of vision, what inscrutable per- 
versity possessed him, he asked himself, as he looked up at 
the slight elegant figure, clad in costly camel’s-hair gar- 
ments, with Russian sables wrapped about her delicate 
throat, with a long drifting plume casting flickering shad- 
ows over her sweet flowerlike face; the attractive embodi- 
ment of patrician birth and environment of riches, and all 
that the world values most — then down at the human epi- 
tome of wretchedness, represented by a bronze-crowned 
head, with singularly magnetic eyes, crimsoned cheeks, and 
a perfect mouth, whose glowing, fever-rouged lips were 
curved in a shadowy smile, as she muttered incoherently of 
incidents, connected with the life of a poverty-stricken ad- 
venturess? Was friendly fate flying danger signals by 
arranging and accentuating this vivid contrast, in order to 
recall his vagrant wits, to cement his wavering allegiance? 

He was a brave man, but he shivered slightly, as he con- 
fronted his own insurgent and defiant heart; and involun- 
tarily, his fingers dropped Leo’s, and his right hand tight- 
ened on the hot palm throbbing against it. 

On that dark tossing main, where delirium drove Beryl’s 
consciousness to and fro like a rudderless wreck, did some 
mysterious communion of spirits survive? Did some subtle 
mesmeric current telegraph her soul, that her foul wrongs 
were at last avenged? Whatever the cause, certainly a 
strangely clear, musical laugh broke suddenly from her 
lovely lips, mingled with a triumphant ''Che sard, sardT 
The heavy lids slowly drooped, the head turned wearily 
away. 

Smothering a long drawn sigh, which his pride throttled, 
Mr. Dunbar rose and stood beside his hancee. 

“You have been feeling her pulse, how is the fever?” 
asked Leo. 

“About as high as it can mount. The pulse is frightfully 
rapid. I did not even attempt to count it.” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 163 

“Mrs. Singleton tells me she is entirely unconscious — 
recognizes no one.” 

“At times, I think she has partly lucid glimpses; for in- 
stance, a little while ago she called me ‘Tiberius’, the same 
appellation she unaccountably bestowed on me the day of 
her preliminary examination. Evidently she associates me 
with every cruel, brutal monster, and even in delirium main- 
tains her aversion.” 

Miss Gordon’s hand stole into his, pressing it gently in 
mute attestation of sympathy. After a moment, she said in 
a low tone: 

“She is very beautiful. What a noble, pure face? How 
exquisitely turned her white throat, and wrists, and hands.” 

He merely inclined his head in assent. 

“It seems a profanation to connect the idea of crime with 
so lovely and refined a woman. Lennox?” 

He turned, and looked into her brown eyes, which were 
misty with tears. 

“Well, my dear Leo, what is burdening your generous 
heart?” 

“Do you, can you, believe her guilty? Her whole appear- 
ance is a powerful protest.” 

“Appearances are sometimes fatally false. I think you 
told me, that the purest and loveliest face, guileless as an 
angel’s, that you saw in Europe, was a portrait of Vittoria 
Accoramboni ; yet she was veritably the ‘White Devil’, 
‘beautiful as the leprosy, dazzling as the lightning’. Do I 
believe her guilty? From any other lips than yours, I 
should evade the question; but I proudly acknowledge your 
right to an expression of my opinion, when — ” 

“I withdraw the question, because I arrogate no ‘rights’. 
I merely desire the privilege of sympathizing, if possible, 
with your views; of sharing your anxiety in a matter in- 
volving such vital consequences. Privilege is the gift of 
affection; right, the stern allotment of law. Tell me noth- 
ing now ; I shall value much more the privilege of receiving 
your confidence unsolicited.” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


164 

He took both her hands, drew her close to him, and looked 
steadily down into her frank tender eyes. 

“Thank you, my dear Leo. Only your own noble self 
could so delicately seek to relieve me from a painful em- 
barrassment; but our relations invest you. with both rights 
and privileges, which for my sake at least, I prefer you 
should exercise. You must allow me to conclude my sen- 
tence; you are entitled to my opinion — when matured. As 
far as I am capable of judging, the evidence against her is 
— overwhelmingly condemnatory. I thought so before her 
arrest; believed it when her preliminary examination ended, 
and subsequent incidents strengthen and confirm that opin- 
ion; yet a theory has dawned upon me, that may possibly 
lighten her culpability. I need not tell you, that I feel 
acutely the responsibility of having brought her here for 
trial, and especially of her present pitiable condition, which 
causes me sleepless nights. If she should live, I shall make 
some investigation in a distant quarter, which may to some 
extent exculpate her, by proving her an accessory instead of 
principal. My — generous Leo, you shall be the first to whom 
I confide my solution — when attained. I am sorely puzzled, 
and harassed by conflicting conjectures; and you must be 
patient with me, if I appear negligent or indifferent to the 
privileges of that lovely shrine where my homage is due.” 

“If you felt less keenly the distressing circumstances sur- 
rounding you, I should deeply regret my misplaced confi- 
dence in your character; and certainly you must acquit me 
of the selfishness that could desire to engross your attention 
at this juncture.” 

Desirous of relieving him of all apprehension relative to 
a possible misconstruction of his motives and conduct, she 
left one hand in his, and laid the other with a caressing 
touch on his arm; an unprecedented demonstration, which 
at any other time would have surprised and charmed him. 

“Ah, what a melancholy sight! So much delicate refined 
beauty, in this horrible lair of human beasts I Lennox, let 
us hope that the mercy of God will call her speedily to His 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


165 


own bar of justice, before she suffers the torture and degra- 
dation of trial, by earthly tribunals.” 

She felt the slight shudder that crept over him, the sud- 
den start with which he dropped her hand, and bent once 
more over the cot. 

“God forbid she should die now, leaving the burden of 
her murder on my soul !” 

His countenance was averted, but the fervor of his ad- 
juration filled her with a vague sense of painful foreboding. 

“Is it friendly to desire the preservation 'of a life, whose 
probable goal seems the gallows, or perpetual imprisonment? 
Poor girl ! In the choice of awful alternatives, death would 
come here as an angel of mercy.” 

Leo took Beryl’s hand in hers, and tears filled her eyes 
as she noted the symmetry of the snowy fingers, the delicate 
arch of the black brows, the exceeding beauty of the waving 
outline where the rich mahogany-hued hair touched the fore- 
head and temples, that gleamed like polished marble. 

“Is it friendly to wish an innocent girl to go down into 
her grave, leaving a name stained for all time by suspicion, 
if not absolute conviction of a horrible crime?” 

Mr. Dunbar spoke through set teeth, and Leo’s astonish- 
m.ent at the expression of his countenance, delayed an an- 
swer, which was prevented by the entrance of Mrs. Sin- 
gleton. 

“Miss Gordon, your uncle wishes to know whether you are 
ready to go home; as he has an engagement that calls him 
away ?” 

Did Leo imagine the look of relief that seemed to brighten 
Mr. Dunbar’s face, as he said promptly: 

“With your permission, I will see you safely down stairs, 
and commit you to Judge Dent’s care.” 

Standing beside the cot, she v/atched Mrs. Singleton 
measure the medicine from a vial into a small glass. When 
the warden’s wife knelt down, and putting one arm under 
the pillow elevated it slightly, while she held the glass to 
the girl’s lips, Beryl attempted to push it aside. 


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“Take it for me, dear child; it will make you sleep, and 
ease your pain/’ 

The beautiful eyes regarded her wistfully, then wandered 
to the face of the lawyer and rested, spellbound, 

“Here, swallow 'his. It is not bad to take.” 

Mrs. Singleton patted her cheek and again essayed to 
administer the draught, but without success. 

“Let me try.” 

Mr. Dunbar took the glass, but as he bent down, the girl 
began to shiver as though smitten with a mortal chill. She 
writhed away, put out her shuddering hands to ward it off; 
and starting up, her eyes filled with a look of indescribable 
horror and loathing, as she cried out: 

“Ricordo! Oh, mother — it is Ricordo! I see it! Father 
— it was my Pegli handkerchief ! — with the fuchsias you 
drew ! Father — ask Christ to pity me !” 

She sank back quivering with dread, pitiable to contem- 
plate; but after a few moments her hands sought each 
other, and her trembling lips moved evidently in prayer, 
though the petition was inaudible. Mrs. Singleton sponged 
her forehead with iced water, and by degrees the convulsive 
shivering became less violent. The wise nurse began in a 
subdued tone to sing slowly, “Nearer my God to Thee,” and 
after a little while, the sufferer grew still; the heavy lids 
lifted once or twice, then closed, and the laboring brain 
seized on some new vision in the world of fevered dreams. 

Mrs. Singleton took the medicine from the attorney, and 
put it aside. 

“Sleep is her best physic. When these nervous shivers 
come on, I find a hymn chanted, soothes her as it does one 
of my babies. Poor child 1 she makes my heart ache so 
sometimes, that I want to scream the pain away. How 
people with any human nature left in them, can look at her 
and listen to her pitiful cries to her dead father, and her 
dying mother, and her far-off God, and then believe that 
her poor beautiful hands could shed blood, passes my com- 
prehension; and all such ought to go on four feet, and 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


167 


browse like other brutes. I am poor, but I vow before the 
Lord, that I would not stand in your shoes, Mr. Dunbar, 
for all the gold in the Government vaults, and all the dia- 
monds in Brazil.” 

Tears were dripping on the costly furs about Leo’s neck, 
as she moved closer to the attorney, and linked her arm 
in his: 

“Mr. Dunbar, we will detain my uncle no longer. Mrs. 
Singleton has told me, that one of her children is ill, had 
a spasm last night; and since maternal duties are most im- 
perative, it is impossible for her to give undivided attention 
to this poor sufferer. If you will kindly take me down 
stairs, I will call at the ‘Sheltering Arms’, and secure the 
services of one of the ‘Sisters’ who is an experienced nurse. 
This will relieve Mrs. Singleton, and we shall all feel as- 
sured that our poor girl has careful and tender watching, 
and every comfort that anxious sympathy can provide.” 


CHAPTER XII. 

It was midnight in November, keenly cold, but windless; 
and in the purplish sky, the wintry crown of stars burned 
with silvery lustre, unlike the golden glow of constellations 
throbbing in sultry summer, and their white fires sparkled, 
flared as if blown by interstellar storms. The large family 
of Lazarus huddled over dying embers on darkening hearths, 
and shivered under scanty shreds of covering; but the house 
of Dives was alight with the soft radiance of wax candles, 
fragrant with the warm aroma of multitudinous exotics, and 
brimming with waves of riotous music, on which merry- 
hearted favorites of fashion swam in measured mazes. The 
“reception” given by Judge Parkman to the Governor and 
his staff, on the occasion of a review of State troops at 
X , was at its height; and several counties had been 


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skimmed for the creme de la creme of most desirable repre- 
sentatives of wit, wealth and beauty. 

Miss Gordon had arrived unusually late, and as she 
entered the room, leaning on her uncle’s arm, she noticed 
that Mr. Dunbar was the centre of a distinguished group 
standing under the chandelier. He was gently fanning his 
hostess, who stood beside the Governor, and evidently he 
was narrating some spicy incident, or uttering some pungent 
witticism, whereat all laughed heartily. The light fell full 
on his fine figure, which rose above all surrounding per- 
sonages, and was faultlessly apparelled in evening dress; 
and Leo’s heart filled with tender pride, at the consciousness 
that he was all her own. The exigencies of etiquette pre- 
vented for more than an hour any nearer approach, but 
when Mr. Dunbar had rendered “Caesar’s things” to social 
Caesar, and paid tribute of bows, smiles, compliments and 
persiflage into the coffer of custom, he made his way 
through the throng, to the spot where his betrothed stood 
resting after her third dance. 

“Will Miss Gordon grant me a promenade in lieu of the 
dance, which misfortunes conspired to prevent me from 
securing earlier in the evening?” 

He drew her hand under his arm, and his eyes ran with 
proprietorial freedom over the details of her costume; pale 
blue satin, creamy foam of white lace, soft sheen of large 
pearls, and bouquet of exquisite half blown La France 
roses. 

Since their betrothal, he had claimed the privilege of 
sending the flowers she wore, on special occasions; and she 
had invariably expressed her appreciation through the dainty 
lips of a boutonniere arranged by her own fingers. Now 
while he recognized the roses resting on her corsage, her 
eyes dwelt on her favorite double lilac violets, nestling in 
the buttonhole of his coat. 

“You were very late to-night. I loitered in ambush about 
the precincts of the dressing-room, hoping for the pleasure 
of conducting you down-stairs; but ‘the best laid schemes 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


69 


o' mice and men gang aft aglee’, and I became the luckless 
prey of similar tactics. That marauding Tomyris, Mrs. 
Halsey, sallied out at the head of her column of daughters, 
espied me lurking behind the portiere, and proclaiming her 
embarras de richesse, ‘paid me the compliment’ of consign- 
ing one fair campaigner. Miss Eloise Hermione, to my care^ 
Fancy the strain on courtesy, as I accepted my ‘quite unex- 
pected good fortune’ !” 

He spoke with a nervous rapidity, at variance with his 
usual imperturbable deliberateness of manner, and she 
thought she had never seen his eyes so restless and brilliant. 

“I was unusually late, owing to the fact that the Governor 
and staff dined with Uncle Mitchell, and they lingered so 
long over their cigars and wine, that I was delayed in the 
drawing-room, waiting for them; consequently was very late 
in changing my dress. We were sorry you were prevented 
from joining us. Uncle pronounced the dinner a perfect 
success; and certainly Governor Glenbeigh was in his hap- 
piest mood, and particularly agreeable.” 

“Given his hostess, and entourage, could he possibly have 
been less? Rumor’s hundred tongues wag with the an- 
nouncement, that his Excellency is no longer inconsolable 
for his wife’s death; and desires to testify to the happiness 
of conjugal relations, by a renewal of the sweet bondage; 
a curiously subtile compliment to the deceased. If I may 
be pardoned the enormity of the heresy, I think Shakspeare 
blimdered supremely, when he gave lago’s soul to a man. 
Diabolical cunning, shrewd malevolence pure and simple, 
armed with myriads of stings for hypodermic incisions that 
poison a man’s blood, should be appropriately costumed in 
a moss-green velvet robe, should wear frizzled bangs as 
yellow as yonder bouquet of Marechal Neils, so suggestive 
of the’ warning flag flying over pest-houses !” 

“It is very evident you are not equally generous in sur- 
rendering the amiability of Timon, along with the depravity 
of lago, to the arsenal of feminine weapons. What cor- 
roding mildew of discontent has fallen from Mrs. Park- 


170 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


man’s velvet dress, and rusted the bright blade of your 
chivalry?” 

“The ve^’y breath of lago, filling my ears and firing my 
heart with the architectural details of her coveted ‘castle in 
Spain.’ Glenbeigh is her cousin. The ladder of his prefer- 
ment is set up before my eyes, and his Excellency springs 
up the rounds, from Governor to Senatorship, thence to a 
place in the Cabinet, certainly to an important foreign em- 
bassy; where, in the eternal fitness of things, somebody, 
somebody with tender brown eyes like a thrush’s, and the 
voice of a siren, and the red lips of Hebe — will be invited 
to reign as Vamhassadrice ! If I am not as mad with 
jealous despair as Othello, attribute my escape either to a 
sublime faith in your adorable constancy and incorrupti- 
bility, or to my own colossal vanity, fatuous beyond abso- 
lution.” 

He pressed her arm closer to his side, and covered with 
one hand the gloved fingers resting on his sleeve; then 
added : 

“You must permit me to congratulate you upon your 
beautiful toilette to-night. The harmony of the dress, and 
the grace of the wearer leave nothing to be desired. Al- 
though debarred the pleasure of dining with you, I had 
hoped to enter, at least, with the coffee, but the freight train 
upon which I returned, was delayed ; and I had no choice but 
to await your arrival here.” 

He indulged so rarely in verbal compliments, that she 
flushed with profound gratification at the fervor of his tone. 

“I am glad you like my dress, to which your roses lend 

the loveliest garniture. I was not aware that X could 

furnish at this season such superb La France buds. Where 
did you find them?” 

“They travelled several hundred miles, for the privilege of 
nestling against my Leo’s heart.” 

Spartan thieves are not the only heroic sufferers who 
smile and make no moan, clasping close the hidden fangs 
ravening on their vitals. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


171 

^‘As you mentioned in your note that very important busi- 
ness had called you unexpectedly away, I hope your mission 
proved both pleasant and successful.” 

A shadow drifted over his countenance, like that cast by 
some summer cloud long becalmed, which sets sail before 
a sudden gust. 

“Only a modicum of success to counterbalance the dis- 
agreeable features of a journey m a freight train caboose.” 

“Why do you hazard that dangerous schedule, instead of 
waiting for the passenger express?” 

“Business exigencies narrow the limits of choice; more- 
over, had I waited for the express, I should have missed the 
coveted pleasure of this meeting with you. The rosy 
glamour of happy anticipation conquers even the discom- 
fort of a freight caboose.” 

Did she suspect that some sullen undercurrent of intense 
feeling drove these eddying foam bells of flattery into the 
stream of conversation; or was her reply merely a chance 
ricochet shot, more accurately effective than direct fire? 

“This afternoon I had a note from Sister Serena, asking 
for a few articles conducive to the comfort of a sick room; 
and I really cannot determine whether we should feel regret, 
or relief at the tidings that that unfortunate girl — can 
scarcely — ” 

“Spare me the Egyptian mummy at my feast ! The 
memento mori when I would fain forget. Let me inhale 
the perfume of your roses, without hearing that possibly 
a worm battens on their petals. Will you ride with me to- 
morrow afternoon?” 

“I am sorry that an engagement to dine will prevent, as 
the afternoons are so short.” 

“Are you going to the Percy’s?” 

“Yes. Will you not be there?” 

“Too bad! I have just declined attending that dinner, 
because I had planned the horseback ride. Formerly fate 
seemed to smile upon me; now she shows herself a scowling 
capricious beldam. I have lost this evening, waiting to see 


172 


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you, and now, I must steal away unnoticed; because of an 
important matter which admits of no delay. Have you 
promised to dance with Mayfield? Here he comes. Good- 
night, my dear Leo, expect to see me at ‘The Lilacs’ at the 
earliest possible moment.” 

Unobserved he made his escape, and hurried away. At 
a livery stable he stopped to order his horse saddled, and 
brought to his door, and a few moments later, stood before 
the grate in his law office, where the red glow of the coals 
had paled under ashy veils. From the letter- rack over the 
mantel, he took a note containing only a line: 

“She has reached the crisis. We have no hope. 

“Singleton.” 

In the hot embers, it smoked, shrivelled, disappeared; 
and the attorney crossed his arms over his chest to crush 
back the heavy sigh struggling for escape. The long over- 
coat buttoned from throat to knee, enhanced his height, and 
upon his stern, handsome features had settled an expression 
of sorrowful perplexity; while his keen eyes showed the 
feverish restlessness that, despite his efforts, betrayed heart- 
ache. Above the heads of the gay throng he had just left, 
he had seen all that evening a slender white hand beckon- 
ing to him from the bars of a dungeon ; and dominating the 
music of the ball room, the laughter of its dancers, had 
risen the desperate, accusing cry: 

“You have ruined my life!” 

Was it true, that his hand had dashed a foul blot of 
shame upon the fair pure page of a girl’s existence, and 
written there the fatal Unis? If she died, could he escape 
the moral responsibility of having been her murderer ? 
Amid the ebb and flow of conflicting emotions, one grim 
fact stared at him with sardonic significance. If he had 
ruined her life, retribution promptly exacted a costly for- 
feit; and his happiness was destined to share her grave. 

He neither analyzed nor understood the nature of the 
strange fascination which he had ineffectually striven to 
resist; and he ground his teeth, and clinched his hands with 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


173 


impotent rage, under the stinging and humiliating con- 
sciousness that his unfortunate victim had grappled his 
heart to hers, and would hold it forever in bondage. No 
other woman had ever stirred the latent and unsuspected 
depths of his tenderness; out at the touch of her hand, the 
flood burst forth, sweeping aside every barrier of selfish 
interest, defying the ramparts of worldly pride. Guilty or 
innocent, he loved her ; and the wretchedness he had in- 
flicted, was recoiling swiftly upon himself. 

Unbuttoning his overcoat, he took from an inside pocket, 
the torn half of a large envelope, and unlocking the drawer 
of his desk, hunted for a similar fragment. Spreading them 
out before him, he fitted the zigzag edges with great nicety, 
and there lay the well-known superscription : “Last Will and 
Testament of Robert Luke Barrington.” One corner of the 
last found bit was brown and mud-stained, but the hand- 
writing was in perfect preservation. As he stooped to put 
it all back in a secret drawer, something fell on the floor. 
He picked up the dainty boutonniere of pale sweet violets, 
and looked at it, while a frown darkened his countenance, 
as though he recognized some plenipotentiary pleading for 
fealty to a sacred compact. 

“Poor Leo! how little she suspects disloyalty. How in- 
finite is her trust, and what a besotted ingrate I am I” 

He tossed the accusing flowers into the grate, took his 
riding-whip and went down to the door, where his horse 
was champing the bit, and pawing with impatience. Along 
the deserted streets, out of the sleeping town, he rode to- 
ward the long stone bridge that spanned the winding river. 
When he had reached the centre, his horse darted aside, 
because of the sudden leap of a black cat from the coping 
of the nearest pier, whence she sped on, keeping just ahead 
of him. The spectral sickle of a waning moon hung on the 
edge of the sky, and up and down the banks of the stream 
floated phantoms of silvery mist, here covering the water 
with impalpable wreaths, and there drifting away to enable 
Andromeda to print her starry image on the glassy surface. 


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AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


Behind stretched the city, marked by lines of gas lamps; 
in front rose the hill clothed with forests; and frowning 
down upon the rider, the huge shadow of the dismal 
dungeon crouched like a stealthy beast ready to spring upon 
him. Dark as the deeds of its inmates, the mass of stone 
blotted the sky, save in one corner, where a solitary light 
shone through iron lattice work. Was it a beacon of hope, 
or did the rays fall on features cold under the kiss of 
death ? 

Spurring his horse up the rocky hill, Mr. Dunbar was 
greeted by the baying of two bloodhounds within the en- 
closure ; and soon after, Mr. Singleton conducted him up the 
steps leading to the room where Beryl had been placed. 

“She is alive; that is all. The doctor said she could not 
last till midnight, but it is now half-past one; and my wife 
has never lost hope. She has sent the nurse off to get some 
sleep, and you will find Susie in charge.” 

The hazel eyes of the gaoler’s wife were humid with 
tears, as she glanced up at the attorney, and motioned him 
to the low chair she vacated. 

‘T knew you would come, and when I heard you gallop 
across the bridge, I sent Sister Serena off to bed. There 
is nothing to be done now, but watch and pray. If she 
ever wakes in this world she will be rational, and she will 
get well. The nurse thinks she will pass away in this 
stupor; but I have faith that she will not die, until she 
clears her name.” 

Nature makes some women experts in the fine art of inter- 
preting countenance and character, and by a mysterious and 
unerring divination, Mrs. Singleton knew that her visitor 
desired no companion in his vigils ; hence, after flitting about 
the room for a few moments, she added: 

“If you will sit here a while, I can look after my babies. 
Should any change occur, tap at my door; I shall not be 
long away.” 

What a melancholy change in the sleeper, during the few 
days of his absence; how much thinner the hollow cheek. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


175 


how sunken the closed eyes; how indescribably sharpened 
the outlines of each feature. The face which had formerly 
suggested some marble statue, had now the finer tracery as 
of an exquisite cameo; and oblivion of all earthly ills had 
set there the seal of a perfect peace. She lay so motion- 
less, with her hands on her breast, that Mr. Dunbar bent 
his head close to hers, to listen to her respiration; but no 
sound was audible, and when his ear touched her lips, their 
coldness sent a shiver of horror through his stalwart frame. 
Pure as the satin folds of an annunciation lily pearled with 
dew, was the smooth girlish brow, where exhaustion hung 
heavy drops; and about her temples the damp hair clung in 
glossy rings, framing the pallid, deathlike face. 

At her wrist, the fluttering thread eluded his grasp, and 
kneeling beside the cot, he laid his head down on her breast, 
dreading to find no pulsation; but slow and faint, he felt the 
tired heart beat feebly against his cheek; and tears of joy, 
that reason could neither explain nor justify, welled up and 
filled his eyes. Leaning his head on her pillow, he took one 
hand between both his, and watched the profound sleep 
that seemed indeed twin sister of death. 

Softened by distance came the deep mellow sound of the 
city clock striking two. Down among the willows fringing 
the river bank, some lonely water-fowl uttered its plaintive 
cry, whereat the bloodhounds bayed hoarsely; then velvet- 
sandalled silence laid her soothing touch upon the world, 
and softly took all nature into her restful arms. 

In the searching communion which he held with his own 
heart, during that solemn watch, Mr. Dunbar thrust aside 
all quibbles and disguises, and accepted as unalterable, tv/o 
conclusions. 

She was innocent of crime, and he loved her; but she 
knew -who had committed the murder, and would suffer 
rather than betray the criminal. The conjecture that she 
was shielding a lover, was accompanied by so keen a pang 
of jealous pain, that it allowed him no room to doubt the 
nature or intensity -of the feeling which she had inspired. 


176 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


In her wan loveliness, she seemed as stainless as a frozen 
snowdrop, and while his covetous gaze dwelt upon her, he 
felt that he could lay her in her coffin now, with less suf- 
fering, than see her live to give her brave heart to any 
other man. To lift her spotless and untrampled from the 
mire of foul suspicion, where his hand had hurled her, was 
the supreme task to which he proposed to devote his 
energies; but selfishness was the sharpest spur; she must be 
his, only his, otherwise he would prefer to see her in the 
arms of death. 

So the night waned; and twice, when the warden’s wife 
stole to the door, he lifted his head and waved her back. 
When the clock in the tower struck four, he felt a slight 
quiver in the fingers lying within his palm, and Beryl’s face 
turned on the pillow, bringing her head against his shoulder. 
Was it the magnet of his touch drawing her unconsciously 
toward him, or merely the renewal of strength, attested 
already by the quickened throb of the pulse that beat under 
his clasp? By degrees her breathing became audible to his 
strained ear^ and once a sigh, such as escapes a tired child, 
told that nature was rallying her physical forces, and that 
the tide was turning. Treacherous to his plighted troth, and 
to the trusting woman whom he had assiduously wooed and 
won, he yielded to the hungry yearning that possessed him, 
and suddenly pressed his lips to Beryl’s beautiful mouth. 
Under that fervent touch, consciousness came back, and the 
lids lifted, the dull eyes looked into his with drowsy won- 
der. Stepping swiftly to the door which stood ajar, he met 
Mrs. Singleton, and put his hand on her shoulder. 

“She is awake, and will soon be fully conscious, but per- 
feat quiet is the only safeguard against relapse. When she 
remembers, leave her as much alone as possible, and answer 
no questions.” 

Holding her baby on her breast, Mrs. Singleton whis- 
pered : 

“Put out the lamp, so that she can see nothing to remind 
her.” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


177 


As he took his hat, and put his hand on the lamp, he 
looked back at the cot, and saw the solemn eyes fixed upon 
him. He extinguished the light, and passed into the room 
where Susie Singleton stood waiting. 

“She will not know Sister Serena, and for a day or two 
I will keep out of sight when she is awake. Mr. Dunbar, 
God has done His part, now see that you do yours. Have 
you found out who ‘Ricordo’ is?” 

“Certainly, it is a thing; not a person. As yet the word 
has given no aid.” 

“Then you have discovered nothing new during your 
absence ?” 

“Yes, I have found the missing half of the envelope 
which contained General Barrington’s will; but ask me no 
questions at present. For her sake, I must work quietly. 
Send me a note at twelve o’clock, that I may know her 
exact condition, and the opinion of the doctor. Has noth- 
ing been heard from Dyce?” 

“As far as I know, not a syllable.” 

They shook hands, and once more Mr. Dunbar sprang 
into his saddle. Overhead the constellations glowed like 
crown jewels on black velvet, but along the eastern horizon, 
where the morning-star burned, the sky had blanched; and 
the air was keen with the additional iciness that always 
precedes the dawn. Earth was powdered with rime, waiting 
to kindle into diamonds when the sun smote its flower 
crystals, and the soft banners of white fog trailed around 
the gray arches and mossy piers of the old bridge. At a 
quick gallop Mr. Dunbar crossed the river, passed through 
the heart of the city, and slackened his pace only when he 
found himself opposite the cemetery, on the road leading to 
“Elm Bluff.” As the iron gate closed behind him, he walked 
his horse up the long avenue, and when he fastened him 
to the metal ring in the ancient poplar, which stood sentinel 
before the deserted Howse, the deep orange glow t4iat paves 
the way for coming suns, had dyed all the sky, blotting out 
the stars; and the new day smiled upon a sleeping world. 


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The peacock perched upon the balustrade of the terrace 
greeted him vociferously, and after some moments his re- 
peated knock was answered by the cautious opening of the 
front door, and Bedney’s gray head peered out. 

“Lord — Mars Lennox ! Is it you ? What next ? Tears 
to me, there’s nothing left to happen; but howsomever, if 
ther’s more to come, tell us what’s to pay now?” 

“Bedney, I want you to help me in a little matter, where 
your services may be very valuable; and as it concerns 
your old master’s family, I am sure you will gladly enter 
into my plan — ” 

“Bless your soul. Mars Lennox, you are too good a lie- 
yer to be shore of anything, but the undertaker and the 
tax collector. I am so old and broke down in sperrits, that 
you will s’cuse me from undertaking of any jobs, where 
I should be obleeged to pull one foot out’en the grave before 
I could start. I ain’t ekal to hard work now, and like the 
rest of wore-out stock, I am only worth my grass in old 
fields.” 

Sniffing danger, Bedney warily resolved to decline all 
overtures, by taking refuge in his decrepitude; but the at- 
torney’s steady prolonged gaze disconcerted him. 

“You have no interest, then, in discovering the wretch who 
murdered your master? That is rather suspicious.” 

“What ain’t ’spicious to you. Mars Lennox? It comes as 
natchal to you to ’spicion folks, as to eat or sleep, and it’s 
your trade. You believe I know something that I haven’t 
tole ; but I swear I done give up everything to Mars Alfred ; 
and if my heart was turned inside out, and scraped with a 
fine-tooth comb, it wouldn’t be no cleaner than what it is. 
I know if I was lying you would ketch me, and I should 
own up quick; ’cause your match doesn’t go about in human 
flesh; but all the lancets and all the doctors can’t git no 
blood out’en a turnup.” 

“You are quite willing, then, to see General Barring- 
ton’s granddaughter suffer for the crime?” 


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179 

“ ’Fore Gord ! Mars Lennox, you don’t tote fair ! ’Pears 
to me you are riding two horses. Which side is you on ?” 

“Always on the side of justice and truth, and it is to 
help your poor young mistress that I came to see you; but 
it seems you are too superannuated to stretch out your hand 
and save her,” 

“Ain’t you aiming to prove she killed old marster ? That’s 
what you sot out to do; and tarrapin’s claws are slippery, 
compared to your grip, when you take holt.” 

The old negro stood with his white head thrown back, and 
unfeigned perplexity printed on his wrinkled features, while 
he scanned the swart face, where a heavy frown gathered. 

“I set out this morning to find a faithful, old family 
servant, whose devotion has never before been questioned; 
but evidently I have wasted my confidence as well as my 
time. Where is Dyce? She is worth a hundred superan- 
nuated cowards.” 

“Don’t call no names. Mars Lennox. If there’s one mean 
thing I nachally despises as a stunnin’ insult, it’s being 
named white-livered; and my Confederate record is jest as 
good as if I wore three gilt stars on my coat collar. You 
might say I was a liar and a thief, and maybe I would take 
it as a joke; but don’t call Bedney Barrington no coward! 
It bruises my feelins mor’n I’le stand. Lem’me tell you the 
Gord’s truth; argufying with lie-yers is wuss than shootin’ 
at di-dappers, and that is sport I don’t hanker after. I ain’t 
spry enuff to keep up with the devil, when you are whip- 
ping him around the stump; and I ain’t such a forsaken 
idjut as to jump in the dark. Tell me straight out what 
you want me to do. Tote fair, Mars Lennox.” 

“I am about to offer a reward of two hundred and fifty 
dollars, and I thought I would allow you privately the oppor- 
tunity of securing the money, before I made it public. 
Where is Dyce?” 

“You might as well ax the man in the moon. The only 
satisfaction she gin me when she left home, was — she was 
gwine to New York to hunt for Miss Elbe. I tole her she 


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was heading for a wild goose chase, and her answer sig- 
nified she was leaving all of them fowls behind. If she 
was here, she’d be only a ‘clean chip in your homny pot’; 
for she wouldn’t never touch your job with a forty- foot 
pole, and what’s more, she’d tie my hands. I ain’t afeard 
of my ole ’oman, but I respects her too high to cross her; 
and if ever you git married, you will find it’s a mighty good 
rule to ‘let sleeping dogs lay’. Who do you expect me to 
ketch for two hundred and fifty dollars?” 

“A lame negro man, about medium size, who was seen 
carrying a bundle on the end of a stick, and who was 
hanging about the railroad station on the night of General 
Barrington’s death. He probably lives on some plantation 
south of town, as he was travelling in that direction, after 
the severe storm that night. I want him, not because he 
had any connection with your master’s murder, but to obtain 
from him a description of a strange white man, whom he 
directed to the railroad water-tank. If you can discover 
that lame negro, and bring him to my office, I will pay you 
two hundred and fifty dollars, and give him a new suit of 
clothes. The only hope for General Barrington’s grand- 
daughter is in putting that man on the witness stand, to cor- 
roborate her statement of a conversation which she heard. 
This is Wednesday. I will give you until Saturday noon to 
report. If you do not succeed I shall then advertise. If you 
wish to save Miss Brentano, help me to find that man.” 

He swung himself into the saddle, and rode away, leav- 
ing Bedney staring after him, in pitiable dubiety as to his 
own line of duty. 

“Wirnmen are as hard to live peaceable with as a hatful 
of hornets, but the’r brains works spryer even than the’r 
tongues; and they do think as much faster ’an a man, as 
a express train beats er eight ox-team. Byce is the safest 
sign-post! If she was only here now, I couldn’t botch 
things, for she sees dare through a mill-stone, and she’d 
shove me the right way. If I go a huntin’, I may flounder 
into a steel trap; if I stand still, wuss may happen. Mars 


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i8r 


Lennox is too much for me. I wouldn’t trust him no 
further ’n I would a fat possum. I am afeard of his oily 
tongue. He sot out to hang that poor young gal, and now 
he is willing to pay two hundred and fifty dollars to show 
the court he was a idjut and a slanderer! I ain’t gwine 
to set down on no such spring gun as that! Dyce ought 
to be here. When Mars Lennox turns summersets in the 
court, before the judge, I don’t want to belong to his circus 
— ^but, oh Lord ! If I could only find out which side he 
raily is on?” 


CHAPTER XIII. 

During the early stages of her convalescence. Beryl, 
though perfectly rational, asked no questions, made no refer- 
ence to her gloomy surroundings and maintainecf a calm, 
but mournful taciturnity, very puzzling to Mrs. Singleton, 
who ascribed it at first to mental prostration, which rendered 
her comparatively obtuse; but ere long, a different solution 
presented itself, and she marvelled at the silence with which 
a desperate battle was fought. With returning conscious- 
ness, the prisoner had grasped the grievous burden of her 
fate, unflinchingly lifted and bound it upon her shoulders; 
and though she reeled and bent under it, made no moan, 
indulged no regret, uttered no invective. 

One cold dismal day, when not a rift was visible in the 
leaden sky, and a slanting gray veil of sleety rain darkened 
the air and pelted the dumb, shivering earth, Beryl sat on 
the side of her cot, with her feet resting on the round of 
a chair, and her hands clasped at the back of her head. 
Her eyes remarkably large from the bluish circles illness 
had worn beneath them, were fixed in a strained, unwinking, 
far-away gaze upon the window, where black railing showed 
the outside world as through some grim St. Lawrence’s 
gridiron. 


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182 

From time to time the warden’s wife glanced from her 
sewing toward the motionless figure, reluctant to obtrude 
upon her revery, yet equally loath to leave her a prey to 
melancholy musing. After a while, she saw the black lashes 
quiver, and fall upon the waxen cheeks, then, as she 
watched, great tears glittered, rolled slowly, dripped softly, 
but there was no sigh, no sound of sobs. Leaning closer, 
she laid her arm across the girl’s knee. 

“What is it, dearie? Tell me.” 

There was no immediate reply; when Beryl spoke, her 
voice was calm, low and measured, as in one where all the 
springs of youth, hope, and energy are irreparably broken. 

“Every Gethsemane has its strengthening Angels. The 
agony of the Garden brought them to Christ. I thank God, 
mine did not fail me. If they had not come, I think I could 
never have borne this last misery that earth can inflict upon 
me. My mother is dead.” 

“Why distress yourself with sad forebodings? Weakness 
makes you despondent, but you must try to hope for the 
best; and I dare say in a few days, you will have good news 
from your mother.” 

“I shook hands with Hope, and in her place sits the only 
companion who will abide with me during the darkness that 
is coming on — Patience, pale-browed, meek-eyed, sad-lipped 
Patience. If I can only keep my hold upon her skirts, till 
the end. To me, no good news can ever come. As long 
as mother lived, I had an incentive to struggle; now I am 
alone, and they who thirst for my blood are welcome to take 
it speedily. I know my mother is dead; I have seen her.” 

“Wake up, child. Your brain is weak yet and full of 
queer delirious visions, and when you doze, realities and 
dreams are all jumbled together. You have a deal too much 
sense to harbor any crazy spiritual crankiness. Take your 
wine, and lie down. You have sat up too long, and tired 
yourself.” 

“No. I have wanted to tell you for several days, because 
you have been so good, and I have heard you praying here 


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183 


at night that God would be merciful to me; but I waited 
uatil I had strength to be calm. I have lain here day after 
day, and night after night, face to face with desolation 
and despair, and now I have grown accustomed to the 
horror. I know that in this world there is no escape, no 
help, no hope; so — the worst is over. When you consent 
to fate, and stretch out your arms to meet death, there is 
no more terror, only waiting, weary waiting. I am not 
superstitious, and unfortunately I am not one of the victims 
of dementia, whose spectral woes are born of disordered 
brains. I am sadly sane; and what I am about to tell you 
is no figment of feverish fancy. I do not know how long 
I have been sick, but one night great peace and ease came 
suddenly upon me. I swung in some soft tender arms, close 
to the gates of Release, and the iron bars melted away, and 
my soul was borne toward the wonderful light ; but sud- 
denly a shock, a strange thrill ran through me, and the 
bars rose again, and the light faded. Then all at once my 
father and my mother stood beside me, bent over me. 
Father said : ‘Courage, my daughter, courage ! Bear your 
cross a little longer.’ My mother wept, and said, ‘My good 
little girl. So faithful, so true. I died in peace, trusting 
your promise. For my sake can you endure till the end?’ 
They faded away; and sorrow sat down once more, clutching 
my heart; and death, the Angel who keeps the key of the 
Gate of Release, turned his back upon me. I had almost 
escaped; I was close to the other world, and I was con- 
scious. I saw my mother’s spirit; it was no delirious fancy. 
I know that she is dead. Even in the world of the re- 
leased, she grieves over the awful consequences of my obedi- 
ence to her wishes. Mortal agony of body and soul brings us 
so near to the borderland, that we have glimpses; and those 
we love, lean across the boundary line and compassionate us. 
So my Gethsemane called do'wn the one strengthening Angel 
of all the heavenly hosts, who had most power to comfort 
my heart, and gird me for my fate, my father, my noble 


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father. God, in pity, sent him to exhort me to bear my 
cross bravely.” 

The low solemn voice ceased, and in the silence that fol- 
lowed, only the dull patter of the rain, and the persistent 
purring of a kitten curled up on the cot were audible. Mrs. 
Singleton finished the buttonhole in Dick’s apron, and 
threaded her needle. 

“If it comforts you at all to believe that, I have no right 
to say anything.” 

“You think, however, that I am the victim of some hal- 
lucination ?” 

“Not even that. I think you had a very vivid dream, 
and being exhausted, you mistook a feverish vision for a 
real apparition. I can’t believe your mother is dead, be- 
cause if such were the case, Dyce would have returned at 
once, and told us.” 

“Dyce has a kind heart, and shrinks from bringing me 
the sad news; for she knows my cup was already full. I 
know that my mother is dead. Time will show you that I 
make no mistake. The veil was lifted, and I saw beyond.” 

“Maybe so; may be not. I am stubborn in my opinions, 
and I never could think it possible for flesh to commune 
with spirits. Don’t let us talk about anything that disturbs 
you, ,until you regain your strength. Why will you not 
try a little of this port wine? Miss Gordon brought it 
yesterday, and insisted I should give it to you, three times 
a day. It is very old and mellow. Look at things prac- 
tically. God kept you alive for some wise purpose, and 
since you are obliged to face trouble, is it not better to 
arm yourself with all the physical vigor possible? Drink 
this, and lie down.” 

As Beryl mechanically drained the glass and handed it 
back, Mrs. Singleton added: 

“I believe I told you. Miss Gordon is Mr. Dunbar’s sweet- 
heart. Their engagement is no secret, and he is a lucky 
man; for she is as good as she is pretty, and as sweet as 
she is rich. She has shown such a tender interest in you. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


185 


and manifests so much sympathy, that I am sure she will 
influence him in your favor, and I feel so encouraged about 
your future.” 

A shadowy smile crossed the girl’s wan face, 

“Invest no hope in my future ; for escape is as impossible 
for me, as for that innocent victim foreordained to entangle 
his horns in the thicket on Mount Moriah. He could have 
fled from the sacrificial fire, and from Abraham’s uplifted 
knife, back to dewy green pastures poppy-starred, back to 
some cool dell where Syrian oleanders flushed the shade, 
as easily as I can defy these walls, loosen the chain of fate, 
elude my awful doom.” 

“It is because you are not yet yourself, that you take 
such a despairing view of matters. After a while, things 
will look very different, and you are too plucky to surrender 
your life without a brave fight. A great change has come 
over Mr. Dunbar, and there is no telling what he cannot 
do, when he sets to work. If ever a lawyer’s heart has been 
gnawed by remorse, it is his. He and Miss Gordon to- 
gether can pull you out of the bog, and I believe they will.” 

“Mr. Dunbar’s professional reputation is more precious 
in his sight than a poor girl’s life; moreover, even if he 
desired to undo his work, he could not. I am beyond human 
succor. Fate nails me to a cross, but God consents; so I 
make no struggle, for behind fate stands God — and my 
father.” 

Wearily she leaned back on her pillows, and turned her 
face to the wall. Mrs. Singleton drew the blankets over 
her, folded her own shawl about the shoulders, and smooth- 
ing away the hair, kissed her on the temple; then stole into 
the adjoining room, where her children slept. 

Before the fire that leaped and crackled in the wide chim- 
ney, and leaning forward to rest her turbaned head against 
the mantelpiece, while she spread her hands toward the 
blaze, stood a much muffled figure. 

“Dyce !” 

Mrs. Singleton had left the door ajar, and the old woman 


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turned and pointed to it, laying one finger on her lips; but 
the warning came too late. 

“Hush! I don’t want her to know I am here. Your hus- 
band told me she was sitting up, and in her right mind, but 
too weak to stand any more trouble. I wish I could run 
away, and never see her again, for when I go in there, I 
feel like I was carrying a knife to cut the heart out of 
a fawn, what the hounds had barely left life in. I can’t 
bear the thought of having to tell her — ” 

Dyce covered her face with her shawl, to stifle her sobs, 
and her large frame shook. Mrs. Singleton whispered: 

“Tell me quick. What is it.” 

“Miss Ellie is dead. I got there three days after she was 
buried.” 

The warden’s wife sank into a chair, and drew the weep- 
ing negro into one beside her. 

“Do you know exactly what time she died?” 

“Yes — I had it all put down in black and white. She 
died on Tuesday night, just as the clock struck two; and 
the hospital nurse says — Lord, amercy. Miss Susan ! are you 
going to faint? You have turned ashy!” 

As Mrs. Singleton’s thoughts recurred to the fact that it 
was at that hour that Beryl lay in the stupor of the crisis, 
from which she awoke perfectly conscious, and recalled the 
dream that the/ sick girl held as a vision, she felt a vague 
but bewildering dread seize her faculties, in defiance of cool 
reason, and scoffing scepticism. 

“Go on, Dyce. I felt a little sick. Tell me — ” 

She paused and listened to an unusual and inexplicable 
noise issuing from the next room; the harsh sound of some- 
thing scraping the bare floor. 

“You must pick your time to break this misery to that 
poor young thing. I can’t do it. I would run a mile sooner 
than face her with the news, that her ma is dead; and I 
have grieved and cried, till I feel like my brains had been 
put in a pot and biled. The Lord knows His bizness, of 
course; yes, of course He knows the best to do; but ’pears 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


187 


to me, His mercy hid its face behind His wrath, when He 
saw fit to let that poor innercent young creetur in there get 
well, after her ma was laid in the grave. It will be a 
harder heart than mine what can stand by, and tell her she 
is motherless.” 

“There is no need to tell her. She knows it.” 

“How ? Did she get the letter the Doctor said he wrote ?” 

“No. She thinks her mother — ” 

The noise explained itself. Too feeble to walk alone. 
Beryl had pushed a chair before her, until she reached the 
door, and now stood grasping it, swaying to and fro, as she 
endeavored to steady herself. One hand held at her throat 
the black shawl, whose loosened folds fell like a mourning 
mantle to her feet, the other clutched the door, against the 
edge of which she leaned for support. 

“Dyce, I have known for some days that I have no 
mother in this world. I have seen her. Your kind heart 
dreads giving me pain, but nothing can hurt me now. I 
cannot suffer any more, because I am bruised and beaten 
to numbness. I want to see you alone; I want to know 
everything.” 

At sight of her, the old woman darted forward and caught 
the tall, wasted, tottering form in her strong arms. Lifting 
her as though she had been a child, she bore her back to 
her small bleak room, laid her softly on her cot, then knelt 
down, and burst into a fit of passionate crying. 

As if to shut out some torturing vision. Beryl clasped 
her hands over her eyes, and when she spoke, her voice was 
very unsteady: 

“Did you see mother alive?” 

“Oh, honey, I was too late! I was three days too late 
to see her at all. When I got to New York, and found the 
Doctor’s house, he was not at home; had just gone to 
Boston a half hour before I rung the bell. His folks 
couldn’t tell me nothin’, so I had to wait two days. When 
I give him your note, he looked dreadful cut up, and tole 
me Miss Ellie had all the care and ’tention in the world. 


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but nothin’ couldn’t save her. He said she didn’t suffer 
much, but was ’lirious all the time, until the day before she 
died, when all of a sudden her mind cleared. Then she 
axed for you, honey — God bless you, my poor lamb ! I hate 
to harrify your heart. The Doctor comforted her all he 
could, and tole her bizness of importance had done kept you 
South. Miss Ellie axed how long she could live; he said 
only a few hours. She begged him to prop her up, so she 
could write a few words. He says he held the paper for 
her, and she wrote a little, and rested; and then she wrote 
a little more and fell back speechless. He put the piece 
of paper in a invellop and sealed it, and axed her if she 
wished it given to her daughter Beryl. She couldn’t talk 
then, but she looked at him and nodded her head. That 
was about four o’clock in the evening of Tuesday. She 
had a sort of spasm, and went to sleep. At two o’clock, she 
woke up in Heaven. He said he felt so sorry for you — 
dear lamb ! He wouldn’t let them burry her where most 
was hurried that died in the hospital. He had her laid 
away in his own lot in some graveyard, where his childun 
was hurried, ’till he could hear from you. He tole me, she 
was tenderly handled, and everything was done as you would 
have wanted it; and he cut off some of the beautiful hair 
—and—” 

Dyce smothered her sobs in the bedclothes, but Beryl lay 
like a stone image. 

“Oh, honey! It jest splits my heart in two, to tell you 
all this — ” 

“Go on, Dyce.” 

“The doctor gin me a note to the nuss at the hospital, 
what ’tended the ward Miss Ellie was in, and I got all her 
clothes, and packed ’em in a box and brought ’em home. 
She told me pretty much what the doctor had said, only 
she was shore your ma spoke jest before she died, and 
called twice — Tgnace ! Ignace !’ She said she was beautiful 
as a angel and her hair was a v/onder to all who saw her, 
it was so long and so lovely. She tole me the doctor hissef 


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189 


put a big bunch of white carnations and tuberoses in her 
hand, after they put her in the coffin, and she looked like 
a queen. The doctor wrote you a letter, ’splainin’ every- 
thing, and sent it to the postmaster here. He seemed 
dreadfull grieved and ’stonished when I tole him how I had 
left you, and said if he could help you, he would be very 

glad to do it. I tole him we would pay his bill, as soon as 

this here trial bizness was over; and he answered: ‘Tut — 
tut ; bill indeed ! That poor unfortunate girl need never 
worry over any bill of mine. I did all I could for her 

mother, but the best of us fail sometimes. Tell that poor 

child to come and see me, as soon as she gets out of the 
clutches of those fire-eating devils down South.’ Honey, 
I couldn’t be satisfied without seeing for myself, where 
they had laid my dear young mistiss. I got ’rections from 
the doctor, and I spent good part of a day huntin’ the 
cemetery, and at last a man in a uniform showed me Doctor 
Grantlin’s lot. Oh, my lamb ! That was the first and only 
comfort I had, when I stood in front of that grand lovely 
marble potico — with great angels kneeling on the four cor- 
ners, and knew my dear young mistiss was resting in such 
a beautiful place. I felt so proud that ole mistiss’ chile 
was among the best people, sleeping with flowers in her 
hands, in that white marble house ! I wanted to be shore 
there warn’t no mistake, and the keeper of the graveyard 
tole me a lady had been put ‘temporary’ in the vault, four 
days before. I had bought a bunch of violets from a flower 
shop, but I could not get nearer than the door, where some 
brass rods was stretched like a kind of a net; so I laid my 
little bunch down on the marble steps, close as I could push 
it agin the rod; and though I couldn’t see my dear young 
mistiss, maybe — up in heaven — she will know her poor ole 
mammy did not forgit her, and — ” 

The old woman cried bitterly, and one thin hand, white 
as a snowflake, fell upon her bowed head, and softly stroked 
her black wrinkled face. After some minutes, when the 


190 


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paroxysm of weeping had spent itself, Dyce took the hand, 
kissed it reverently, and pressed into it a package. 

“The doctor tole me to put that into your hands. He 
said he knew it would be very precious to you, but he felt 
shore he could trust me to bring it safe. Now, honey, 
I know you want to be by yourself, when you read your 
ma’s last words. I will go and set in yonder by the fire, 
till you call me. My heart aches and swells fit to bust, and 
I can’t Stan’ no more misery jest now, sech as this.” 

For some moments. Beryl lay motionless, then the intolera- 
ble agony clutched her throat with an aching sense of suf- 
focation, and she sat up, with nerveless hands lying on the 
package in her lap. She was prepared for, expectant of the 
worst, but the details added keener stings to suffering that 
had benumbed her. At last, with a shuddering sigh, she 
broke the seal, and took from folds of tissue paper, a long 
thick tress of the beautiful black hair. Shaking it out of 
its satin coil, she held it up, then wrapped it smoothly over 
her hand, and laid it caressingly against her cheek. 

Prison walls melted away; she stood again in the New 
York attic, and combed, and brushed, and braided those 
raven locks, and saw the wan face of the beloved invalid, 
and the jasmine and violets she had pinned at her throat. 

What had become of the proud, high-spirited ambitious 
girl, who laughed at adverse fortune, and forgot poverty in 
lofty aspirations ? How long ago it seemed, since she kissed 
the dear faded cheek, and knelt for her mother’s farewell 
benediction. Was it the same world? Was she the same 
Beryl; was the eternal and unchanging God over all, as of 
yore? She had shattered and ruined the sparkling crystal 
goblet of her young life, scattering in the dust the golden 
wine of happy hope, in the effort to serve and comfort that 
loved sufferer, who, languishing on a hospital cot, had died 
among strangers; had been shrouded by hirelings. That 
any other hand than hers had touched her sacred dead, 
seemed a profanation; and at the thought of the last rites 
rendered, the loyal child shivered as though some polluting 


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191 

grasp had been laid upon herself. Out of the envelope 
rolled a broad hoop of reddish gold, her mother’s wedding 
ring; and in zigzag lines across a sheet of paper was written 
the last message: 

“My dear, good little girl, so faithful, so true, my legacy 
of love is your mother’s blessing. You must be comforted 
to know I am dying in peace, because I trust in your last 
promise — ” 

Then a blot, some unintelligible marks, and a space. Lower 
still, scarcely legible characters were scrawled: 

“Tell my darling — to wear my ring as a holy — ” 

In death as in life, the last word, and the deepest feeling 
were not for her; the sacred souvenir was left for the hand 
that had so often stabbed the idolatrous heart, now stilled 
forever. 

In all ages the ninety and nine that go not astray, never 
feel the caressing touch which the yearning Shepherd lays 
on the obstinate wanderer, who would not pasture in peace; 
and from the immemorial dawn of inchoate civilization, 
prodigals have possessed the open sesame to parental hearts 
that seemed barred against the more dutiful. By what per- 
verted organon of ethics has it come to pass in sociology, 
that the badge of favoritism is rarely the guerdon of merit? 

To the orphaned, forsaken, disgraced captive, sitting amid 
the sombre ruins of her life, drinking the bitter lees of the 
fatal cup a mother’s hand had forced to her reluctant lips, 
there seemed nothing strange in the injustice meted out; 
for had not the second place in maternal love always been 
hers? As the great gray eyes darkening behind their tears, 
like deep lakes under coming rain, read and re-read the 
blurred lines, the frozen mouth trembled, and Beryl kissed 
the hair, folded it away in the letter, and pinned both close 
to her heart. Staggering to her feet, she held up the ring, 
and said in a broken, half audible voice: 

“When I am dead, your darling shall have it; until then 
lend it to your little girl, as a strengthening amulet. The 
sight of it will hold me firm, will girdle my soul with 


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fortitude, as it girdles my finger; will set a yet holier seal 
to the compact whereby I pledged my life, that you might 
die in peace. If, in the last hour, you had known all my 
peril, all that my promise entails, would you have released 
me? Would you have died content knowing that your idol 
was guarded and safe, behind the cold shield of your little 
girl’s polluted body? The blood in my veins flowed from 
yours ; I slept on your heart, I was the last baby whose lips 
fed at your bosom. Mother ! Mother, if you had known 
all, could you have seen the load of guilt and shame and 
woe laid on your innocent child, and bought the life of 
your first-born, by the sacrifice of a scapegoat ? Dear 
mother, my mother, would you shelter him, and leave your 
baby to die?” 

Slipping the ring on her finger, she kissed it twice. The 
hot flood of tears overflowed, and she fell on her knees be- 
side the cot, clasping her hands above her bowed head. 

“Alone in my desolation ! Oh, father ! keep close to my 
soul, and pray that I may have strength to bear my burden, 
even to the end. My God ! My God ! sustain me now. 
Help me to be patient, and when the sacrifice is finished, 
accept it for Christ’s sake, and grant that the soul of my 
brother may be ransomed, because I die for his sins.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 

“Well, dear child, wl«at is the trouble? Into what quag- 
mire have your little feet slipped? When you invite me so 
solemnly to a private conference in this distractingly pretty 
room, the inference is inevitable that some disaster threat- 
ens. Have you overdrawn your bank account?” 

Judge Dent leaned back, making himself thoroughly com- 
fortable in a deep easy chair in Leo’s luxurious library; 
and taking his niece’s hand, looked up into her grave, sweet 
face. 


193 


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I want you to honor my draft for a large amount. I am 
about to draw upon your sympathy ; can I ever overdraw 
my account with that royal bank?’’ 

“Upon my sympathy, never; but mark you, this does not 
commit me to compliance with all your Utopian schemes. If 
you were raving mad, I should sympathize, but nevertheless 
I should see that the strait- jacket was brought into requisi- 
tion. When your generosity train dashes recklessly beyond 
regulation schedules of safety, I must discharge engineer 
sympathy, and whistle down the brakes. What new hobby 
do you intend that I shall ride?” 

“I have no intention of sharing that privilege even with 
you; I merely desire you to inspect the accoutrements, to 
examine reins, and girth, and stirrup. I lend my hobby to 
no one, and it is far too mettlesome to ‘carry double’. 
Uncle Mitchell, I feel so unhappy about that poor girl, that 
I must do something to comfort her, and only one avenue 
presents itself. I want you to have her brought into court 
on a writ of Habeas Corpus, and to use your influence with 
Judge Parkman to grant her bail. I desire to give the 
amount of bond he may require, because I think it would 
gratify her, to have this public assurance that she possessed 
the confidence of her own sex; for nothing so strengthens 
and soothes a true woman as the sympathy and trust of 
women.” 

“Looking at the case dispassionately from a professional 
point of view, I am sorry to tell you that the judge would 
scarcely be warranted in granting bail. Were I still upon 
the bench, I could not conscientiously release her, in the 
face of constantly accumulating evidence against her, al- 
though she has my deepest compassion. Conceding, how- 
ever, for the moment, that Parkman consents to the petition 
and the girl is set at liberty, are you prepared to pay the 
large forfeit, if she, realizing the fearful odds against her 
acquittal, should take permanent bail by absconding before 
the trial? Abstract sympathy and generous sentiments are 
one phase of this matter; positively paying a fifteen or a 


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twenty-thousand-dollar-bond is quite another. Weigh it 
carefully. We pity this unfortunate prisoner, but we know 
absolutely nothing in her favor, to counterbalance the terri- 
ble array of accusing circumstances fate has piled against 
her. If she be guilty, can she resist the temptation to escape 
by flight; and if indeed she be innocent, how much more 
difficult to await all that is involved in this trial, and abide 
the issue? Because she is beautiful, has a refined and noble 
air, and seems unsullied as some grand snow image, do not 
blind yourself to the fact, that for aught we can prove to 
the contrary, she may have a heart as black as Tullias', 
hands as bloody as Brunehaut’s.” 

*‘You believe that as little as I do. I have pondered the 
matter in all its aspects, and I take the risk.” 

‘‘You can afford to pay for her flight?” 

“I will pay for her flight, no matter what it may cost.” 

Judge Dent took her hand between both his. 

“Let us be frank. 

‘The things we do — 

We do ; we’ll wear no mask, as if we blushed !’ 

Are you so assured of the woman’s fidelity; or do you 
deliberately leave the door ajar, foreseeing the result, deem- 
ing this the most expedient method of cutting the Gordian 
knot?” 

For a moment she hesitated, then her soft brown eyes 
looked down bravely into his. 

“I believe she is innocent, and that she will be loyal if 
released on bail; but if I mistake her character, and she 
should flee for her life from the lifted sword of justice, then 
I shall gladly pay the expense of playing Alexander’s role; 
and shall feel rejoiced that she lives to repent her crime;' 
and that the man to whom I have promised my hand, has 
been relieved of the awful responsibility of hunting her to 
death.” 

“Have you made him acquainted with this scheme?” 

“Certainly not. I owed it to you to secure votw approba- 
tion and co-operation, before mentioning tne matter to him-” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


195 


“Have you considered the opposition which, without in- 
consistency, he cannot fail to offer? As prosecuting at- 
torney for the Barringtons he would be recreant .0 his 
client, if he consented to release on bail,” 

“His sympathy is deeply enlisted in her behalf, and I do 
not anticipate opposition; nevertheless, it would not deter 
me from the attempt to free her, at least temporarily from 
prison. As you have no connection with the trial, I can see 
no impropriety in your telling Judge Parkman, that the girl’s 
health demands a change of air and scene, and that it is 
my desire to furnish any bond he may deem suitable, and 
then bring the prisoner under my own roof, until the day 
fixed for her trial. If you are unwilling to speak to him, 
will you permit me to mention the subject to him?” 

“I fear enthusiasm is hurrying you into a proposal, the 
possibly grave consequences of which you do not realize. 
You would run a great risk in bringing here that unfor- 
tunate woman, over whose head has gathered so black a 
cloud of suspicion. In becoming her gaoler, you assume 
a fearful responsibility.” 

“I fully comprehend all the hazard, and with your per- 
mission, I shall not shrink. I have a conviction, for which 
I can offer no adequate grounds, that this girl is as innocent 
as I am; and if all the world hissed and jeered, I should 
stretch out my hand to her. Do you recollect Ortes’ booty 
when Antwerp fell into Alva’s hands? The keys of the 
dungeons. I would rather swing wide the barred doors of 
yonder human cage across the river, and lead that woman 
out under God’s free sky, than wear all of Alva’s jevv^els, 
own his gold. Uncle, will you speak, or shall I?” 

“I must first talk with Churchill and Dunbar. Your effort 
might result only in injury to the prisoner; because if she 
were brought into Court on writ of Habeas Corpus, and 
refused bail, as I fea^ would be the case, the failure would 
operate very unfavorably for her cause, on public opinion, 
of which after all, in nineteen cases out of twenty, the jury 
verdict is a reflection. Some new evidence has been pre- 


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sented since the preliminary examination, and its character 
will determine the question of bail. If I can see any chance 
of your success I will speak to Parkman; for, indeed, my 
dear child, I honor your motive, and share your hope; but 
unless I find more encouragement than I expect, I will not 
complicate matters by a futile attempt, which would cer- 
tainly recoil disastrously.” 

“Thank you. Uncle Mitchell. Please act promptly. I 
have set my heart of hearts on having that poor young 
woman here to spend Christmas. Her freedom to walk 
about in the sunshine, is the one Christmas gift I covet ; and 
I know you will gratify me if possible. You have only four 
days in which to secure my present.” 

“When do you expect to see Dunbar?” 

“I promised to ride with him this afternoon; but I prefer 
not to discuss this subject, as he has earnestly requested 
me ‘to abstain from any reference to that gloomy business 
during his hours of recreation;’ and I have no intention of 
setting black care en croupe to share our canter to-day. 
Having told me that when he leaves his office to visit us, 
he locks his professional affairs in his desk, you can readily 
understand that good taste enforces respect for his wishes, 
at least in the matter of avoiding tabooed topics.” 

“Does it occur to you that he will object very strenuously 
to seeing the personification of ‘that gloomy business’ sitting 
at your hearth-stone? That he may refuse to lock up in 
his law office the significant and disagreeable reflection, that 
the woman whom he arrested and prosecutes for a vile 
crime, is championed and housed by one whom he claims 
as his promised wife? Dunbar has a keen eye for the 
‘eternal fitness of things,’ and, where you are concerned, is 
a jealous stickler for social convenance. I warn you he will 
be bitterly offended, if you bring General Darrington’s 
granddaughter under this roof.” 

Her delicate flower-like face flushed; and the slight figure 
became proudly erect. 

“It is my house, and I acquit him of the presumption of 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


197 


desiring to dictate to whom its doors shall be opened. If 
he has no confidence in my discretion, no respect for my 
motives, no tolerance for difference of opinion in a matter 
of vital importance, then the sooner our engagement is 
annulled the better for both of us. When I have taken my 
vows, I hope I shall steadfastly keep them, but meantime 
I am still a Gordon. The irrevocable ubi tu Caius, ego 
Caia, has not yet been uttered, and while it would grieve 
me very much to wound his feelings, I claim the exercise 
of my own judgment. I am not indifferent to his wishes; 
on the contrary, I ardently desire, as far as is consistent 
with my self-respect, to defer to them; but when I pledged 
him my faith, I did not surrender my will, nor obliterate 
my individuality.” 

Judge Dent rose, put his arm around her shoulders, and 
drew the sunny head to his breast. 

“Leo, listen to me. There is no heaven on earth, but the 
nearest approach to it, the outlying suburbs whence we get 
bewildering glimpses of beatitude beyond, is the season of 
courtship and betrothal. In the magical days of sweet- 
heartdom, a silvery glorifying glamour wraps the world, 
brims jagged black chasms with glittering mist, paves 
rugged paths with its shimmering folds, and tenderly covers 
very deep in rose leaves, the clay feet of our idols. That 
wonderful light shines only once full upon us, but the 
memory of it streams all along the succeeding journey; 
follows us up the arid heights, throws its mellow afterglow 
on the darkening road, as we go swiftly down the slippery 
hill of life. It comes to all, as hope’s happy prophecy, this 
sparkling prologue, and we never dream that it is the 
sweetest and best of the drama that follows; but let me tell 
you, enjoy it while you may. Beautiful, hallowing sweet- 
heart days, keep them unclouded, guard them from strife; 
hold them for the precious enchantment they bring, and 
take an old man’s advice, do not quarrel with your sweet- 
heart.” 


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He kissed her cheek, and when the door closed behind 
him, she sat down and covered her face with her hands. 

Was that witching light already fading in her sky? Was 
the storm even now muttering, that would rudely toss aside 
the rose leaves that garlanded the feet of her beloved? In 
the midst of her eloquent prologue would darkness smite 
suddenly, and end the drama? Life had poured its richest 
wine into the cup she held to her lips; should she risk 
spilling the priceless draught? She could turn a deaf ear 
to teazing whispers of suspicion, she could shut her eyes 
to the spectre that threw up warning hands, and so drift 
on; but the dream would be broken perhaps too late, and 
all time could not repair the possible shipwreck. Into the 
chill shadow of this problem plunged Miss Patty, bringing 
through the room the penetrating spicery of an apron full 
of pinks, which she was sorting and tying in star-shaped 
clusters. 

“An extraordinary and most unexpected thing has hap- 
pened, and I know you will be surprised.” 

“What is it. Aunt Patty? Something very pleasant, I 
hope.” 

“I have actually changed my opinion; and you know how 
tenacious I usually am of my well-matured views, because 
they are always founded on such sound reasons. Quite sur- 
prised, aren’t you, dear?” 

“That is far too mild and inadequate a term to express 
my sensations. Your views and opinions bear the same 
royal, inviolable seal as those of the Medes and Persians, 
and from their unchangeableness must have floated down the 
stream of Aryan migration, from some infallible fountain 
in Bactria. I should not be much more astonished to hear 
that Cynosure had grown giddy, had swung down and 
waltzed in the arms of Sirius.” 

“Leo, that sounds very pedantic, and there is nothing I 
dislike more. A woman bedecked with rags and tags of far- 
fetched learning, is about as attractive an object as if she 
had turned out a full beard and mustache. I am very sure 


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199 


you have heard me assert more than once, that I verily 
believe Venus herself would scare all the men into monas- 
teries, if she wore blue stockings. Too much learning in 
a lady’s conversation is as utterly unpardonable as a waste 
of lemon and nutmeg in a chicken-pie; or a superfluity of 
cheese in Turbot a la creme) just a hint of the flavor, the 
merest soupgon is all that is admissible in either. I came 
in to tell you, that I have experienced quite a change of 
feeling with reference to that poor young lady, whom Mr. 
Dunbar with such officious haste arrested and threw into 
gaol. I am now convinced that a great wrong has been 
committed.” 

For a moment Leo stooped to stroke the head of her 
Siberian hound, crouching on the velvet rug at her feet; 
then she frankly met the twinkling black eyes that peered 
over their gold-rimmed spectacles. 

‘T am glad to hear it; but to what circumstance is so 
decided a revulsion of sentiment attributable?” 

“You know I have great confidence in Sister Serena’s 
sagacity, and during the past fortnight she has talked fre- 
quently with me on the subject of the prisoner. When she 
undertook to nurse the poor child, she too considered her 
guilty of the unnatural crime; but by degrees she began to 
doubt it. About ten days ago, she says she went to the 
penitentiary, and found the prisoner reading a Bible which 
she had borrowed from the gaoler’s wife. She asked her 
if she would like her to offer up a prayer, in her behalf, 
and they knelt down side by side. Sister Serena prayed 
that God would melt her heart if she was guilty, and help 
her to repent. While they were still on their knees, Sister 
Serena put one arm around her and said: 

“ ‘God knows whether you are the criminal ; and if so, 
let me beg of you to make a full confession; it will unload 
your conscience, and may be the means of arousing more 
sympathy in the public heart.’ She says that the poor girl 
looked at her a moment so reproachfully, and answered: 
‘When we meet in heaven, you will understand how cruelly 


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your words hurt me. I know that appearances are hope- 
lessly against me, and I expect to die ; but I am so innocent, 
I keep my soul close to God, for He who knows the truth, 
will help me to bear man’s injustice.’ Then she prayed 
aloud for herself, that she might endure patiently and 
meekly an awful punishment which she did not deserve ; 
and while she prayed, her countenance was so pure, so 
angelic, and there was such unmistakable fervor and sin- 
cerity in her petition, that Sister Serena says she could not 
help bursting into tears, and she actually begged the girl’s 
pardon for having doubted her innocence. She has fallen 
completely in love with the poor young creature, and tells me 
she finds her wonderfully talented and cultivated. This 
morning she showed me some of the most beautiful designs 
for decorating our altar on Christmas, which the prisoner 
sketched for her. She cut all the models for her, and gave 
her such lovely suggestions, and when Sister Serena thanked 
her, she says the most touching smile she ever saw came 
into that child’s face, as she answered: T ought to thank 
you for the privilege of decorating my Savior’s altar, at the 
last Christmas I shall spend on earth. Next year, I shall 
spend Jesus’ birthday with Him.’ I felt so uncomfortable 
when I heard all that passed between her and Sister Serena, 
that I could not be easy until I had seen for myself; and 
as Sister Serena was going over to carry some letters to be 
painted and gilded, I went with her. I have seen her, and 
talked with her, and I pity the hard, bitter, unregenerate 
and vindictive heart of the man who is prosecuting her for 
murder. I do not believe that in all the world, Mr. Dunbar 
can find twelve men idiotic and vicious enough to convict 
that beautiful orphan girl; and his failure will do as little 
credit to his intellect, as success would to his moral nature.” 

“While I prefer to exclude Mr. Dunbar’s name from our 
discussions, I think it merely bare justice to the absent, to 
assure you that he desires her conviction even less than 
you or I; and will do all in his power to avert it. I feel 
more interest in this matter than you can possibly realize, 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


201 


and, believing her innocent, I will befriend her to the last 
extremity. Did Sister Serena succeed in fitting the black 
dress I sent?” 

“The poor child had on a mourning dress, but I was not 
aware you sent it. Losing her mother seems almost to have 
broken her heart. Poor Ellice Barrington ! Petted and 
fostered like a hot-house flower, and then to die a pauper 
in a hospital ! What an awful retribution for her disobedi- 
ence to her parents? There is the bell.” 

“Yes, Auntie, and I must ask you to excuse me. Some of 
my Sunday-school class are coming to practise their carols, 
and conclude a little holiday preparation, and I hear them 
now on the steps.” 

“Did Mitchell show you Leighton’s telegram?” 

“He told me the good news, that at the last moment 
Leighton had filled his pulpit for the holidays, and would 
preach for us on Oiristmas. How delightfully it will revive 
the dear old days to have him back? Fancy our hanging 
up our stockings once more at the foot of Uncle Mitchell’s 
bed! Your letter must have been eloquent, indeed, to entice 
him from the splendors of the metropolis, to the yule log 
at our quiet ‘Lilacs’ ; and his coming is a tribute of gratitude 
to you, for all your loving care of him. I know you are 
so happy at the thought of taking the Holy Communion from 
the hand of your dear boy, that it will consecrate this 
Christmas above all others; and I congratulate you heartily, 
dear Aunt Patty.” 

It was late in the afternoon of Saturday, Christmas Eve, 
when Leo knocked at the door of Mrs. Singleton’s room. 
A dispirited expression characterized the countenance usu- 
ally serene and happy, and between her brows a perpendic- 
ular line marked the advent of anxious foreboding. Her 
hopeful scheme had dissolved, vanished like a puff of steam 
on icy air, leaving only a teazing memory of mocking fail- 
ure. Judge Dent’s conference with the District Solicitor, 
had convinced him of the futility of any attempt to secure 
bail; moreover, a message from the prisoner earnestly ex- 


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horted them to abandon all intercessory designs in her be- 
half, as she would not accept release on bail, and preferred 
to await her trial. 

“Good evening. Miss Gordon. If you want to see her, 
Ned will show you the way to the chapel, where I left her 
a while ago. Since her mother’s death, the only comfort 
she gets, is from the organ; so we let her go there very 
often. I would go with you, but I want to finish a black 
shawl I am crocheting for her.” 

The warden escorted his visitor through the chill dim 
corridors that had formerly so appalled Beryl’s soul, and 
upon the steps of the chapel, both paused to listen. On the 
small cabinet organ, a skilful hand was playing a grand and 
solemn aria, which Leo had heard once before in the cool 
depths of Freiburg Cathedral. It had impressed her then 
most powerfully, as the despairing invocation of some 
doomed Titan; to-day it thrilled her with keen and intolera- 
ble pain. Waving the warden back, she softly entered the 
chapel, closed the door, and sat down. 

Through the narrow windows, the afternoon sunlight, fet- 
tered by shadowy bars, fell on the bare floor, and the radi- 
ance smote the organ and the wan face of the musician, 
gilding the dark reddish-brown hair coiled loosely on her 
nobly poised head. Her black dress enhanced the extreme 
pallor of delicate features, which, outlined against that 
golden background, bore a strong resemblance to the lovely 
portrait of Titian’s wife in the Louvre. Unmindful of the 
keys, across which her fingers strayed, she was gazing off 
into space, as if seeking some friendly face; and to the same 
sombre, passionate, plaintive melody she sang: 

“The way is dark, my Father! Cloud upon cloud 
Is gathering thickly o’er my head, and loud 
The thunders roar above me. O, see — I stand 
Like one bewildered! Father, take my hand — 

And through the gloom lead safely home Thy Child! 

The day declines, my Father! and the night 
Is drawing darkly down. My faithless sight 
Sees ghostly visions. Fears like a spectral band 
Encompass me. O, Father, take my hand. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


203 


And from the night lead up to light Thy Child! 

The cross is heavy, Father! I have borne 
It long, and still do bear it. I cannot stand 
Or go alone. O, Father, take my hand, 

And reaching down, lead to the crown Thy Child!” 

The voice was wonderfully sweet and rich, vibrating with 
the intense pathos of minor chords in a mellow old violon- 
cello, and either from physical weakness, or the weight of 
woe, it: quivered at last into a thrilling cry. Tears were 
dripping over Leo’s cheeks, as she went up to the chancel 
railing, and leaning across, put out her hand. Beryl rose 
and came forward, and so, with only the pine balustrade 
between, the two stood palm in palm. No moisture dimmed 
the prisoner’s eyes, but around her beautiful mouth sorrow- 
ful curves betokened the fierceness of the ordeal she was 
enduring; and her lips trembled a little, like rose leaves 
under a sudden rude gust. 

“I have wanted very much to see you. Miss Gordon, to 
thank you for the great kindness that prompted your effort 
to help me; and yet, I have no hope of expressing ade- 
quately the comfort I derived from this manifestation of 
your confidence. The knowledge that you offered security 
for me, above all, that you were wdlling to take me — an 
outcast, almost a convicted criminal — into the holy shelter 
of your own home, oh! you can never realize, unless you 
stood in my place, how it soothes my heart, how it will 
always make a bright spot in the blackness of my situation. 
The full sympathy of a noble woman is the best tonic for 
a feeble sufferer, who knows the world has turned its back 
upon her. If I were unworthy, your goodness would be the 
keenest lash that could scourge me; but forlorn though I 
seem, your friendship brings me measureless balm, and 
while I could never have accepted your generous offer, I 
thank you sincerely.” 

“Why were you so unwilling that I should try to release 
you ?” 

‘T have not a dollar to pay my expenses anywhere, and 
I appreciated too fully all that was involved in your hospita- 


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ble ojffer, to take me under your roof, to be willing to avail 
myself of it. Here I am provided for, by those who believe 
me guilty; and here I have the kind sympathy of Mr. and 
Mrs. Singleton, who were my first friends when the storm 
broke over my doomed head. To go out of prison into the 
world now, would be torturing, because 1 am proud and 
sensitive; and these dark walls screen me from the curious 
observation from which I shrink, as from being flayed. To 
the desolate and homeless, change of place brings no relief; 
and since there is no escape for me, I prefer to wait here for 
the end, which, after all, cannot be very distant.” 

“Do you refer to the trial next month?” 

“No, to that which yawns behind the trial ; a shallow gash 
out there under the pines, where the sound of the peni- 
tentiary bell tolls requiems for the souls of its mangled 
victims.” 

“Hush ! hush ! You wrong yourself by imagining the pos- 
sibility of such horrible results. Gloomy surroundings, 
coupled with your great bereavement, render you morbidly 
despondent; and it was the hope of cheering you, that made 
me so anxious to get you away. If I could only take you 
home, even for one week !” 

“The wish has cheered me inexpressibly. How good, 
how noble, how tender you are ! Miss Gordon, because I am 
so grateful, let me now say one thing. You cannot help me 
in future, and it would grieve me to think that I fell, as an 
unlifting shadow, between your heart and the sunshine that 
warms it. In the night of my wretchedness, you have 
groped your way to me, and in defiance of the circum- 
stances that are so cruelly leagued to strangle me, you throw 
your confidence like a warm mantle around my shivering 
soul; you have courageously laid your pure, womanly hands 
in mine — oh, God bless you ! God reward you ! Do you 
think I could bear to know that I had caused even a hand’s 
breadth of cloud to drift over the heavenly blue of your 
happy sky? The bow of promise that spans your life is no 
secret. Let no thought of me jar the harmony that reigned 


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205 


before I came here. Leave me to my doom, which human 
hands cannot avert now; and be happy without questioning. 
Inexorable fate stands behind men; makes them, sometimes, 
irresponsible puppets.” 

A deep flush had risen to Leo’s temples, and withdrawing 
her hand, she shaded her face for a moment. The great 
bell below the tower clock rang sullenly. 

“Good-bye, Miss Gordon. I had permission to stay here 
only till the bell sounded. Pray for me, but do not come 
again. Visits to me could bring you nothing but sorrow 
in return for your compassion, and that would add to my 
misery. I wish you a pleasant Christmas, a happy New 
Year, and as cloudless a life as your great goodness de- 
serves.” 

Once more their hands met, in a long close clasp, then 
Leo laid on the chancel railing a large square envelope. 

“It is only a Christmas card, but so lovely, I know your 
artistic taste cannot fail to admire it; and it may brighten 
your cheerless room. It is the three-hundred-dollar-prize- 
card, and particularly beautiful.” 

“Thank you, dear Miss Gordon. It may help to deaden 
the merciless stings of memory, which all day long has 
tortured me by unrolling the past, where my Christmas days 
stand out like illuminated capitals on black-letter pages.” 

Deaden the stings of memory ? What spell suddenly 
evoked the image of her invalid mother, all the details of the 
attic room, the litter of pencils on the table ; the windows of 
a florist’s shop where, standing on the pavement, she had 
studied hungrily the shapes of the blossoms poverty denied 
her as models; the interior of the Creche, which she had 
penetrated in order to sketch the heads of sleeping babies, 
as a study for cherubs? 

Leo had almost reached the door, when a passionate, in- 
describably mournful cry arrested her steps. 

“Too late ! — too late ! O, God ! What a cruel mockery !’^ 

Beryl stood leaning against the railing of the altar, with 
the light of the setting sun falling aslant on the gilded card 


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she held up in one hand; on her white convulsed face, where 
tears fell in a scalding flood. Retracing her steps, Leo said 
falteringly : 

“In my efforts to comfort you, have I only wounded more 
sorely? How have I hurt you? What can I do?” 

“No — no! you are an angel of pity, hovering over an 
abyss of ruin, whose darkest horrors you only imagine faint- 
ly. What can you do? Nothing, but pray to God to 
paralyze my tongue, and grant me death, before I lose my 
last clutch on faith, and curse my Creator, and drift down 
to eternal perdition ! It was hard enough before, but this 
mockery maddens.” 

With a sudden abandonment, she hurled the card away, 
threw her arms around Leo’s neck and sobbed unrestrain- 
edly. Tenderly the latter held her shivering form, as the 
proud head fell on her shoulder; and after a time. Beryl 
lifted a face white as an annunciation lily, drenched by 
tropical rain. 

“I thought misfortune had emptied all her vials, and that 
I was nerved, because there was nothing more to dread. 
But the worst is always behind, and this is the irony of fate. 
You think that merely a rhetorical metaphor, a tragic trope? 
How should you know ? That Christmas card is the solitary 
dove I sent out to hunt a resting-place for mother and for 
me, when the flood engulfed us. It was my design sent to 
Boston, to compete for the prizes offered. How I dreamed, 
how I toiled ! Haunting the flower shops for a glimpse of 
heartsease, and passion flowers, and stars of Bethlehem; 
begging a butcher at the abattoir to spare a lamb, until I 
could sketch it; kneeling by cradles in the public * Creche" 
to get the full red curve of a baby’s sucking lips, as they 
forsook the bottle, the dimple in the tiny hands, the tendrils 
of hair on the satin brow ! Over that card I sang, and I 
wept; I worked, hoped, prayed, believed! So much de- 
pended upon it! Could the Christ to whom I dedicated it, 
fail to answer my prayer for success? Three hundred dol- 
lars! What a mint! It would pay the doctor, and make 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


207 


mother comfortable, and get her a warm new suit for com- 
ing winter. Oh ! it is so easy to believe in God, until He 
denies us; and to trust Christ, till He hurls our prayers 
back, and the stones crush us. Only three hundred dollars 
between life and death; between a happy, proud girl with 
a noble future, and a disgraced, broken-hearted wreck 
trampled into a convict’s grave! It would have saved all; 
all the awful consequences of the journey here, which only 
dire extremity of need forced upon me. On the fatal day 
I started South, I went at the last moment, hoping that some 
tidings from my card would come on angel wings. The 
decision had been made, but the awards were not yet pub- 
lished, and so my doom was sealed. To-morrow, happy 
women, no more innocent than I am, will smile at my 
Christmas card, and give it with warm kisses and loving 
words to their dear ones; and to-day, my white dove of 
hope, flies back in my face, with the talons of a harpy, to 
devour me with maddening reminders of ‘what might have 
been’. My coveted three hundred dollars ! Three hundred 
taunting fiends I to jeer and torment me. The Christmas 
sun will shine on a pauper’s empty cot in a charity hospital ; 
on a disgraced, insulted, forsaken convict. Take away this 
last mockery, it is more than I can bear. There on the 
back in gilt letters — Prize Card — Three Hundred Dollars ! 
Yet a stranger paid for my mother’s coffin, and — . Tljree 
hundred furies to lash my heart out! Too late! Take it 
away ! too late ! oh, too late ! This is worse than the pangs 
of death.” 


CHAPTER XV. 

The Christmas Sabbath dawned cold and dim, and along 
the eastern sky gray marbled masses of cloud with dun, 
stratified bases, built themselves into the likeness of vast 
teocallis to Tonatiuh, over whose apex the struggling rays 


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fell red and presageful. Dulled by the stained glass win- 
dows, the light that filled the semi-circular chapel at “The 
Lilacs”, was chill and sombre, until the fair sacristan held 
a taper over the tall wax candles on each side of the altar, 
whence a mellow radiance soon streamed over all; flashing 
along the golden letters under the cross, and upon the gilded 
pipes of the little organ. On the marble steps in front of 
the altar were two baskets filled with white camellias, and 
great spikes of pink and blue hyacinths, that seemed to 
break their hearts in waves of aromatic incense. The family 
Bible of the Gordons lay open, on the reading desk, and 
upon its yellow pages rested a Maltese cross of snowy Ro- 
man hyacinths. Looping back the purple velvet portiere 
over the arch leading into the library, Leo sat down on the 
organ bench to await the coming of the family, leisurely 
arranged the stops, and marked in her prayer-book the Col- 
lect for Christmas. In her morning robe of crimson cash- 
mere, with its cascade of soft rich lace foaming from throat 
to feet, and wearing a dainty cluster of double white vio- 
lets fastened just below one ear, where the wax light kissed 
her sunny hair, she -appeared a St. Cecilia, very fair and 
sweet, to the eyes of the man who stood a moment unper- 
ceived beneath the arch. A figure of medium height, clad 
in priestly garments, with a white surplice sweeping to the 
marble floor; a finely modelled head thickly fleeced with 
light brown hair, a serene pleasant face, with regular fea- 
tures, deep-set black eyes magnified by .spectacles, and an 
expression of habitual placidity, that bespoke a soul conse- 
crated by noble aims, and at perfect peace with his God. 

Hearing his step as he crossed the floor, Leo looked over 
her shoulder, smiled, and began to play softly, while he 
ascended the steps and knelt before the altar. After some 
moments Miss Patty rustled in, sank on her knees and finally 
settled herself comfortably on one of the crescent-shaped, 
cushioned sofas; then Judge Dent entered, followed by Jus- 
tine and the aged negro butler, Joel, the two servants find- 
ing seats just behind their master. Doctor Leighton Doug- 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


209 


lass selected his hymns, and the leaves of five prayer-books 
fluttered, as Collects were found, but Leo continued to play. 

Twice she turned and looked around the chapel, seeking 
some one, delaying the commencement of the service. 
Finally accepting defeat, her pretty fingers fell from the 
keys, and with them dropped two tears, forced from her by 
the keen disappointment that robbed this occasion of all its 
anticipated pleasure. Singularly free from fashionable elo- 
cutionary affectations, and certain declamatory stage tricks, 
by which the recitation of the Creed and the Lord’s Prayer 
becomes a competitive test of lungs in the race for breath, 
Leighton Douglass read the morning service, in a well- 
modulated voice, and with a profound solemnity that left its 
impress on each heart. The responses were fervent, and the 
Christmas hymns were sung with joyful earnestness; then 
priestly arms rose like the wings of a great snowy dove, 
and from holy, priestly lips fell the mellow music of the 
benediction : 

“The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, 
and the fellowship of the Holy Ghost, be with us all ever- 
more. Amen.” 

Even while he pronounced the words, a whirring rustle 
filled the beautiful aratory, and two of Leo’s pet ring-doves, 
fluttering round and round the frescoed ceiling, descended 
swiftly. One perched upon her head, cooing softly, and its 
mate nestled down with outspread pinions, pecking at the 
white muslin folds on Doctor Douglass’ shoulder. 

“Paracletes, dun plumed! Leo, let us accept them as 
happy auguries, prophetic of divine blessing on our future 
work in the Master’s vineyard. My cousin, I wish you a 
very happy Christmas.” 

He had approached the organ where she sat, and held 
out his hand. 

“Happy Christmas, Leighton, and many thanks to you for 
this consecrating service in my place of prayer. After to- 
day, it will always seem a more hallowed shrine, and before 


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you leave us, we will gather here as a family, and join in the 
celebration of the Holy Communion.” 

They stood a moment hand in hand, looking into each 
other’s- eyes ; and watching them, Miss Patty’s heart swelled 
with pardonable pride in the two, whom her loving arms had 
so tenderly cradled. Pinching her brother’s hand, as she 
walked with him under the velvet draperies, she whis- 
pered : 

“What a noble match for both ! And he’s only her sec- 
ond cousin.” 

Leo’s eyes were wet with tears, which Doctor Douglass 
ascribed to devotional fervor; and withdrawing her hand, 
she opened one of the windows, and called the doves to the 
stone ledge, putting them very gently out upon the ivy 
wreaths that clambered up the wall, and peeped into the 
chapel. 

“I believe you are sacristan here?” he said, pointing to 
the candles that flared, as the wind rushed in. 

“Yes, here I sweep, dust, decorate daily, allowing no other 
touch; and here I bring my daintiest, rarest flowers, as 
tribute to Him who tapestried the earth with blossoms, and 
sprinkled it with perfumes — when? Not until just before 
the advent of humanity, whose material kingdom was per- 
fected, and furnished in anticipation of his arrival.” 

Extinguishing the candles, she closed the old Bible, cov- 
ered it with a square of velvet, and hung the cross of hya- 
cinths upon the folded hands of one of the marble angels 
that upheld the altar. 

“Pure-handed women are natural priestesses, meet for 
temple ministration; and I have no doubt your exoteric la- 
bors here, merely typify the secret daily sweeping out of 
evil thoughts, the dusting away of motes of selfishness, the 
decorating with noble beautiful aims, and holy deeds, 
whereby you sanctify that inner shrine, your own soul.” 

“Praise from you means so much, that you need not stoop 
to flatter me. The very vestments of you Levites should 
exhale infectious humility; and I especially need exhorta- 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


211 


tions against pride, my besetting sin. I built this chapel, 
not because I am good, but in order to grow better. Every 
dwelling has its room in which the inmates gather to eat, to 
study, to work, to sleep; why not to pray, the most impor- 
tant privilege of many that divide humanity from brutes? 
After all, the pagans were wiser than we, and the heads of 
families were household priests, setting examples of piety 
at every rising of the sun.” 

“Let us see. Greek and Roman fathers laid a cake drip- 
ping with wine, a wreath of violets, a heart of honey-comb, 
a brace of doves on the home altar, and immediately there- 
after, set the example of violating every clause in the Deca- 
logue. Mark you, paganism drew fine lines in morals, long 
anterior to the era of monotheism and of Moses, and fur- 
nished immortal types of all the virtues; yet the excess of 
its religious ceremonial, robbed it of vital fructifying ener- 
gies. The frequency and publicity of sacerdotal service, 
usurped the place of daily individual piety. The tendency 
of all outward symbolical observances, unduly multiplied, is 
to substitute mere formalism for fervor.” 

“Leighton, humanity craves the concrete. All the uni- 
verse is God’s temple, yet the chill breath of the abstract 
freezes our hearts; and we pray best in some pillared niche 
consecrated and set apart. I recall a day in Umbria, when 
the wonderful light of sunset fell on ilex and olive, on 
mountain snows, on valleys billowing between vine-mantled 
hills, on creamy marble walls, on columned campaniles; and 
standing there, I seemed verily to absorb, to become sat- 
urated as it were, with the reigning essence of beauty. I 
walked on, a few steps, lifted a worn, frayed leather cur- 
tain, and looked into a small gray, dingy church, where a 
mist of incense blurred the lights on the ancient altar, and 
the muffled roll of an organ broke into sonorous waves, 
like reverberations of far-away thunder; and why was it, 
tell me, that the universal glory thrilled me only as a sensu- 
ous chord of color, but in the dark corner consecrated to 
the worship of our God, my soul expanded, as if a holy 


212 


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finger touched it, and I fell on my knees, and prayed ? Each 
of us comes into this world dowered with the behest to make 
desperate war against that indissoluble ‘Triple Alliance, the 
World, the Flesh and the Devil,’ and needing all the aux- 
iliaries possible, I resort to conscription wherever I can 
recruit. Since I am two thousand years too young to set up 
a statue of Hestia yonder in my imitation prostas, I have 
built instead this small sacred nook for prayer, which helps 
me spiritually, much as the Ulah aids Islam.” 

“Your oratory is lovely, and I wish its counterpart 
adorned every homestead in our land ; but are you quite sure 
that in your individual experience you are not mistaking 
effect for cause? Your holy heart demands fit shrine 
for—” 

“I am quite sure I will not allow you to stand a moment 
longer on this cold floor; and I do not intend that you shall 
pay me undeserved compliments. It is derogatory to your 
dignity, and dangerous to my modicum of humility. As soon 
as you are ready for breakfast, come to the dining-room, 
where Santa Klaus left his remembrances last night. O, 
Leighton ! I had half a mind to hang up two stockings at 
uncle’s bed, for the sake of dear old lang syne. If we could 
only shut our eyes, and drift back to the magical time of 
aprons, short clothes, and roundabouts, when a sugar 
rooster with green wings and pink head, and a doll that 
could open and shut her eyes, were considered more precious 
than Tiffany’s jewels, or Collamore’s Crown Derby! Can 
Delmonico offer you a repast half as appetizing as the 
hominy, the tea cakes, the honey and the sweet milk which 
you and I used to enjoy at our supper just at sunset, at our 
own little table set under the red mulberry trees in the back 
yard ?” 

“Why should my cousin, whose present is so rose-colored, 
whose future so blissful, turn to rake amid the ashes of the 
past ?” 

“Because, like Lot’s wife, we are all prone to stare back- 
ward. Who lives in the present? Do you? When we are 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


213 


young we pant for the future, that pitches painted tents 
before us. When we are older, we live in the past, that 
wraps itself in a sacred gilding glamour, and is vocal with 
the happy echoes which alone survive. Far-off fields before 
and behind us are so dewy, so vividly green; and the pres- 
ent is gray and stony, and barren of charm, and we turn 
fretfully. It is part of the grim tyranny of Time that it is 
tideless; that the stream bears remorselessly on, and on, 
never back to the dear old spots; always on, to lose itself 
in the eternal and unknown. So, to-day’s Christmas lacks 
the zest of its predecessors.” 

Leo loosened the gilded chain that looped the curtains, 
and as the purple folds fell behind her, hiding the arch. 
Doctor Douglass said gently : 

“There is a solemn truth and wise admonition in one of 
Rabbi Tyra’s dicta: ‘Thy yesterday is thy past; thy to-day 
is thy future ; thy to-morrow is a secret.’ ” 

“Leo, here is a package and a note which arrived during 
service, and as Mr. Dunbar’s servant said there was no 
answer expected, he did not wait.” 

As Miss Patty delivered the parcel to her niece, the min- 
ister walked away to lay aside his vestments, but he noted 
the sudden hardening of his cousin’s face, the flush of dis- 
pleasure, the haughty curl of her lips; and on his ears fell 
his aunt’s voice: 

“You expected and waited for him at morning prayer ?”^ 

“I invited him to join us, if he felt disposed to do so.” 

“What possible excuse can he offer for such negligence, 
when he knew that Leighton would read the service?” 

An uwonted sparkle leaped into Leo’s mild hazel eyes, 
and without examination she handed the package and note 
to Justine. 

“Lay them in the drawer of my writing-desk, and then 
call all the servants into the dining-room. Auntie, tardy 
excuses must wait longer for an audience than we waited 
for the writer. Come to breakfast; uncle will be impatient, 


214 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


and I want to enjoy his surprise when he sees his Santa 
Klaus.” 

She was sorely disappointed, deeply affronted by Mr. Dun- 
bar’s failure to present himself on an occasion at which she 
had especially desired his presence; and as she recalled the 
affectionate phraseology of her note of invitation, her fair 
cheek burned with an intolerable sense of humiliation. Was 
it partition, or total loss, of her precious kingdom? In after 
years, she designated this Christmas as the era when the 
“sceptre departed from Judah;” but putting away the cha- 
grin, and sealing the well of bitterness in her heart, she 
exchanged holiday greetings, and proudly wore her royal 
robes throughout the day, holding sternly off the spectre, 
which grimly bided its time — the hour of her abdication. 

Through the benevolent and compassionate efforts of Mr. 
and Mrs. Singleton, some faint reflection of the outside world 
festivities penetrated the dismal monotony of prison routine; 
and the hearts of the inmates were softened and gladdened 
by kind tokens of remembrance, that carried the thoughts 
of bearded convicts back to Christmas carols in innocent 
youth, and to the mother’s knees where prayers were lisped. 

Illness had secured to Beryl immunity from contact with 
her comrades in misery, and except to visit the little chapel, 
she never left the sheltering walls of her small comfortless 
room, grateful for the unexpected boon of silent seclusion. 
Her Christmas greeting had been little Dick’s sweet lips 
kissing her cheek, as he deposited upon her narrow bed the 
black and white shawl his mother had knitted, and a box 
left by Miss Gordon on the previous day, which contained 
half a dozen pretty handkerchiefs with mourning borders, 
some delicate perfume and soaps, toilet brushes and a sachet. 

An hour later, when Mrs. Singleton and her babies had 
gone to spend the day with relatives in the city. Beryl went 
to the window, pushed the sash up, and listened to the ring- 
ing of the Sabbath-school bells, as every church beyond the 
river called its nursery to the altar, to celebrate the day. 
The metallic clangor was mellowed by distance, rising and 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


215 


falling like rhythmic waves, and the faint echo, filtered 
through dense pine forests behind the penitentiary, had the 
ghostly iteration of the Folge Fond. 

A gaunt yellow kitten, with a faded red ribbon knotted 
about its neck, and vicious, amber-colored eyes that were 
a perpetual challenge, had fled from the tender mercies of 
Dick to the city of refuge under Beryl’s cot ; and community 
of suffering had kindled an attachment that now prompted 
the lesser waif to spring into the girl’s folded arms, and rub 
its head against her shoulder. Mechanically Beryl’s hand 
stroked the creature’s ear, while it purred softly under the 
caress; but suddenly its back curved into an arch, the tail 
broadened, the purr became a growl. Had association lifted 
the brute’s instincts to the plane of human antipathies? 

The warden had opened the door and quickly closed it, 
after ushering in a tall figure, who wore an overcoat which 
was buttoned from throat to knees. At sight of Mr. Dunbar, 
the cat plunged to the floor, and sped away to the darkest 
corner under the iron bedstead. 

“Good morning. I dare not utter here the greetings of 
the day, because you would construe it into a heartless 
mockery.” 

He came forward hesitatingly, and she turned swiftly 
away, pressing her face against the bars of the window, 
waving him back. 

“Why will you persist in regarding as an enemy, the one 
person in all the world who is most anxious to befriend 
you ?” 

Still no answer; only the repellent gesture warning him 
away. 

“Will you allow me, this Christmas morning, to comfort 
myself in some degree, by leaving here a few flowers to 
brighten your desolate surroundings ?” 

He held out a bouquet of rare and brilliant hothouse 
blossoms, whose delicious fragrance had already pervaded 
the room. They stood side by side, yet she shrank farther. 


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AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


and kept her face averted, shivering perceptibly. Lifting 
one arm he drew down the sash to shut out the freezing air. 

“You are resolved neither to look at nor speak to me? So 
be it. At least you must listen to me. You may not care 
to hear that I have been absent, but perhaps it will interest 
you to know that I went in search of the man for whose 
crime you are paying the penalty.” 

If he expected her to wince under the probe, her nerves 
were taut, and she defied the steel ; but the face she now 
turned fully to him was so blanched by illness, so hopeless 
in its rigid calm, that he felt a keen pain at his own heart. 

“Prisoners, victims of justice, have, it seems, no privi- 
leges; else my one request, my earnest prayer to be shielded 
from your presence, might have protected me from this in- 
trusion. Are you akin to Parrhasius that you come to gloat 
over the agonies of a moral and mental vivisection? The 
sight of suffering to which you have brought a helpless 
woman, is scarcely the recompense I was taught to suppose 
agreeable to a chivalrous Southern gentleman. If, wearing 
the red livery of Justice, undue zeal for vengeance betrayed 
you into the fatal mistake of trampling me into this horrible 
place, there might be palliation ; but for the brutal per- 
sistency with which you thrust your tormenting presence 
upon me, not even heavenly charity could possibly find par- 
don. Literally you are heaping insult upon awful injury. 
Is it a refinement of cruelty that brings you here to watch 
and analyze my suffering, as a biologist looks through lenses 
at an insect he empales, or Pasteur scrutinizes the mortal 
throes of the victims into whose veins he has injected 
poison ?” 

If she had drawn a lash across his face, it would not have 
stung more keenly than her words, so expressive of detesta- 
tion. 

“Will you consider for a moment the possibility that other 
motives actuate me; that ceaseless regret, remorse, if you 
choose, for a terrible mistake, impels me to come here in the 
hope of making reparation?” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


217 


“Such a supposition is as inconceivable as the idea of 
reparation. When a reaper goes forth to his ripe harvest, 
his lawful labor, and wantonly turns aside into a by-path, to 
try the edge of his sickle on an humble, unoffending stalk 
that fights for life among the grass and weeds, and strug- 
gles to get its head sufficiently in the sunshine to bloom — 
when he cuts it off unopened, crushes it into the sod, can 
he make reparation? Although it is neither bearded yellow 
wheat, nor yet a black tare, it proved the temper of his 
blade; and all the skill, all the science of universal human- 
ity, cannot re-erect the stem, cannot remove the stains, can- 
not unfold the bruised petals. There are wrongs that all 
time will never repair. Your sword of justice needs no 
whetting; one stroke has laid me low.” 

“I purpose to file it two-edged, in order to make no more 
mistakes. Before long I shall cut down the real criminal, 
the principal, who shall not escape, and for whom you shall 
not suffer.” 

“Then ‘a life for a life’ no longer satisfies? How many 
are required? The law has need of a sacrificial stone wide 
as that of the Aztecs. Is justice a ‘daughter of the horse- 
leech’?” 

“So help me God — ” 

“Hush ! Take not His name upon your lips. Men like 
you cannot afford to credit the existence of a holy God. 
This is Christmas — at least according to the almanac — now 
as a ‘chivalrous Southern gentleman,’ will you grant me 
a very great favor if I humbly crave it? Ah, noblesse 
oblige! you cannot deny me. I beg of you, then, leave me 
instantly; come here no more. Never let me see your face 
again, or hear your voice, except in the court-room, when 
I am tried for the crime which you have told the world I 
committed. This boon is the sole possible reparation left 
you.” 

She had clasped her hands so tightly, that the nails were 
bloodless, and the fluttering in her white throat betrayed the 
throbbing of her heart. 


2i8 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


“You are afraid of me, because you dread my discovering 
your secret, which is — ” 

“You have done your worst. You have locked me away 
from a dying mother; disgraced an innocent life; broken a 
girl’s pure, happy heart; what else is there to dread? Al- 
though a bird knows full well when it has received its death 
wound, instinct drives it to flutter, drag itself as far as possi- 
ble from the gaze of the sportsman, and gasp out its agony 
in some lonely place.” 

“When I hunt birds, and a partridge droops its wings, 
and hovers almost at my feet, inviting capture, I know be- 
yond all peradventure that it is only love’s ruse; that some- 
thing she holds dearer than her own life, is thereby screened, 
saved. You are guilty of a great crime against yourself, you 
are submitting tacitly, consenting to an awful doom, in order 
to spare and protect the real murderer.” 

He bent closer, watching breathlessly for some change in 
her white stony face; but her sad eyes met his with no 
wavering of the lids, and only her delicate nostrils dilated 
slightly. She raised her locked hands, rested her lips a 
moment on her mother’s ring, as if drinking some needed 
tonic, and answered in the same low, quiet tone : 

“Then, prime minister of justice, set me free, and punish 
the guilty. Who murdered General Barrington?” 

“You have known from the beginning; and I intend to 
set you free, when that cowardly miscreant has been secured. 
You would die to save your lover; you, proud, brave, noble 
natured, would sacrifice your precious life for that wretched, 
vile poltroon, who flees and leaves you to suffer in his 
stead! Truly, there is no mystery so profound, so complex, 
so subtle as a woman’s heart. To die for his crimes, were 
a happier fate than to sully your fair soul by alliance with 
one so degraded ; and, by the help of God, I intend to snatch 
you from both I” 

He had put his hands for an instant upon her shoulders, 
and his handsome face flushed, eloquent with the feeling that 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


219 

he no longer cared to disguise, was so close to hers, that she 
felt his breath on her cheek. 

Swiftly, unerringly she comprehended everything; and the 
suddenness of the discovery dazzled, awed her, as one might 
feel under the blue flash of a dagger when thrust into one’s 
clasp for novice fingers to feel the edge. Was the weapon 
valued merely because of the possibility of fleshing it in the 
heart of him who had darkened her life? Did he under- 
stand as fully the marvellous change in the beautiful face, 
that had lured him from his chapel tryst with his betrothed ? 
He was on the alert for signals of distress, of embarrass- 
ment, of terror; but what meant the glad light that leaped 
up in her eyes, the quick flush staining her wan cheek, the 
triumphant smile curving lips that a moment before might 
have belonged to Guercino’s Mater Dolorosa, the relaxation 
of figure and features, the unmistakable expression of in- 
tense relief that stole into the countenance? 

“Will you be so good as to tell me my lover^s name, and 
where the fox terriers of the law unearthed him?” 

“I will tell you something which you do not already know; 
that I have found a clue, that I shall hunt him out, hide, 
crouch where he may; that here, where he sinned, he shall 
expiate his crime, and that when your lover is hung, your 
name, your honor, shall be vindicated. So much, Lennox 
Dunbar promises you, on his honor as a gentleman.” 

“Words, vapid words ! Empty, worthless as last year’s 
nests. My lover,” she laughed scornfully, “is quite safe even 
from your malevolence. If indeed ‘one touch of nature 
makes the whole world kin,’ one might expect some pity 
from the guild of love swains; and it augurs sadly for Miss 
Gordon’s future, that the spell is so utterly broken.” 

His dark face reddened, lowered. 

“If you please, we will keep Miss Gordon’s name out of 
the conversation, and hereafter when — ” 

“Enough ! I shall keep her image in my grateful heart, 
the few tedious months I have to live; and there seems 
indeed a sort of poetic justice in the fact that the bride you 


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covet, has become the truest tenderest friend of the hapless 
girl ^vhom you are prosecuting for murder.” 

“Beryl—” 

“I forbid such insolent presumption ! You shall not utter 
the name my father gave me. It is holy as my baptism ; it 
must be kept unsullied for my lover’s lips to fondle. This 
is your last visit here, for if you dare to intrude again, I 
will demand protection from the warden. I will bear no 
more.” 

As he looked at her, the witchery of her youthful loveli- 
ness, heightened by the angry sparkle in her deep eyes, by 
the vivid carnation of her curling lips, mastered him; and 
when he thought of the brown-haired woman to whom he 
was pledged, he set his teeth tight, to smother an execration. 
He moved toward the door, paused, and came back. 

“Will it comfort you to know that I suffer even more 
than you do ; that I am plunged into a fiercer purgatory than 
that to which I have condemned you? I am devoured by 
regret; but I will atone. I came here as your friend; I 
can never be less, and in defiance of your hatred, I shall 
prove my sincerity. Because I bemoan my rash haste, will 
you say good-bye kindly? Some day, perhaps, you will 
understand.” 

He held out his hand, and his blue eyes lost their steely 
glitter, filled with a prayer for pardon. 

She picked up the bouquet which had fallen from the 
window sill to the floor, and without hesitation put it into 
his fingers: 

“I think I understand all that words could ever explain. 
My short stream of life is very near the great ocean of rest. 
I have ceased to struggle, ceased to hope ; and since the end 
is so close, I wish no active warfare even with those who 
wronged me most foully. If you will spare me the sight 
of you, I will try to forget the added misery of the visits 
you have forced upon me, and perhaps some of the bitter- 
ness may die out. Take the flowers to Miss Gordon; leave 
no trace to remind me of your persecution. We bear chas- 


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221 


tisement because we must, but the sight of the rod renews 
the sting ; so, henceforth, I hope to see you no more. When 
we meet before our God, I may have a new heart, swept 
clean of earthly hate, but until then — until then — ” 

He caught her fingers, crushed his lips against them, and 
walked from the room, leaving the bouquet a shattered mass 
of perfume in the middle of the floor. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

Standing before Leon Gerome’s tragic picture, and listen- 
ing to the sepulchral echo that floats down the arcade of 
centuries, *^Ave, Imperator, morituri te salutant/' nineteenth 
century womanhood frowns, and deplores the brutal deprav- 
ity which alone explains the presence of that white-veiled 
vestal band, whose snowy arms are thrust in signal over the 
parapet of the bloody arena; yet fair daughters of the latest 
civilization show unblushing flower faces among the heaving 
mass of the “great unwashed” who crowd our court-rooms — 
and listen to revolting details more repugnant to genuine 
modesty, than the mangled remains in the Colosseum. The 
rosy thumbs of Roman vestals were potent ballots in the 
Eternal City, and possibly were thrown only in the scale of 
mercy; but having no voice in verdicts, to what conservative 
motive may be ascribed the presence of women at criminal 
trials ? Are the children of Culture, the heiresses of “all the 
ages”, really more refined than the proud old dames of the 
era of Spartacus? 

Is the spectacle of mere physical torture, in gladiatorial 
combats, or in the bloody precincts of plasa de toros, as 
grossly demoralizing as the loathsome minutiae of heinous 
crimes upon which legal orators dilate; and which Argus 
reporters, with magnifying lenses at every eye, reproduce for 
countless newspapers, that serve as wings for transporting 
moral dynamite to hearthstones and nurseries all over our 


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land? Is there a distinction, without a difference, between 
police gazettes and the journalistic press? 

If extremes meet, and the march of human progress be 
along no asymtotic line, is the day very distant when we 
shall welcome the Renaissance of that wisdom which two 
thousand years ago held its august tribunal in the solemn 
hours of night, when darkness hid from the Judges every- 
thing save well-authenticated facts? The supreme aim of 
civil and criminal law being the conservation of national and 
individual purity, to what shall we attribute the paradox 
presented in its administration, whereby its temples become 
lairs of libel, their moral atmosphere defiled by the mon- 
strous vivisection of parental character by children, the 
slaughter of family reputation, the exhaustive analysis of 
every species of sin forbidden by the Decalogue, and floods 
of vulgar vituperation dreadful as the Apocalyptic vials? 
Can this generation 

“ in the foremost files of time ” 

afford to believe that a grim significance lurks in the desue- 
tude of typical judicial ermine? 

Traditions of ante helium custom proclaimed that “good 
society” in the town of X , formerly considered the pre- 

cincts of courts as unfit for ladies as the fetid air of morgues, 
or the surgical instruments on dissecting tables; but the 
vanguard of cosmopolitan freedom and progress had pitched 
tents in the old-fashioned place, and recruited rapidly from 
the ranks of the invaded; hence it came to pass, that on 
the second day of the murder trial, when the preliminaries 
of jury empanelling had been completed, and all were ready 

to launch the case, X announced its social emancipation 

from ancient canons of decorum, by the unwonted spectacle 
of benches crowded with “ladies”, whose silken garments 
were crushed against the coarser fabrics of proletariat. 
Despite the piercing cold of a morning late in February, 
the mass of human furnaces had raised the temperature 
to a degree that encouraged the fluttering of fans, and 


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223 


necessitated the order that no additional spectators should 
be admitted. 

Viewed through the leaden haze of fearful anticipation, 
the horror of the impending trial had seemed unendurable 
to the proud and sensitive girl, whom the Sheriff placed on 
a seat fronting the sea of curious faces, the battery of 
scrutinizing eyes turned on her from the jury-box. Four 
months of dread had unnerved her, yet now when the cruel 
actuality seized her in its iron grasp, that superb strength 
which the inevitable lends to conscious innocence, so steeled 
and fortified her, that she felt lifted to some lonely height, 
where numbness eased her aching wounds. 

Pallid and motionless, she sat like a statue, save for the 
slow strokes of her right hand upon the red gold of her 
mother’s ring; and the sound of a man’s voice reading a 
formula, seemed to echo from an immeasurable distance. 
She had consented to, had deliberately accepted the worst 
possible fate, and realized the isolation of her lot; but for 
one thing she was not prepared, and its unexpectedness 
threatened to shiver her calmness. Two women made their 
way toward her: Dyce and Sister Serena. The former sat 
down in the rear of the prisoner, the latter stood for a few 
seconds, and her thin delicate hand fell upon the girl’s 
shoulder. At sight of the sweet, placid countenance below 
the floating white muslin veil. Beryl’s lips quivered into a 
sad smile; and as they shook hands she whispered: 

‘T believe even the gallows will not frighten you two 
from my side.” 

Sister Serena seated herself as close as possible, drew 
from her pocket a gray woollen stocking, and began to knit. 
For an instant Beryl’s eyes closed, to shut in the sudden 
gush of grateful tears ; when she opened them, Mr. Churchill 
had risen: 

“May it please the Court, Gentlemen of the Jury: If 
fidelity to duty involved no sacrifice of personal feeling, 
should we make it the touchstone of human character, value 
it as the most precious jewel in the crown of human vir- 


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tues ? I were less than a man, immeasurably less than a gen- 
tleman, were I capable of addressing you to-day, in obedience 
to the behests of justice, and in fulfilment of the stern 
requirements of my official position, without emotions of 
profound regret, that implacable Duty, to whom I have 
sworn allegiance, forces me to hush the pleading whispers 
of my pitying heart, to smother the tender instincts of hu- 
man sympathy, and to listen only to the solemn mandate of 
those laws, which alone can secure to our race the enjoy- 
ment of life, liberty and property. An extended professional 
career has hitherto furnished me no parallel for the pecul- 
iarly painful exigencies of this occasion; and an awful re- 
sponsibility scourges me with scorpion lash to a most 
unwelcome task. When man crosses swords with man on 
any arena, innate pride nerves his arm and kindles enthusi- 
asm, but alas, for the man ! be he worthy the name, who 
draws his blade and sees before him a young, helpless, beau- 
tiful woman, disarmed. Were it not a bailable offence in 
the court of honor, if his arm fell palsied? Each of you 
who has a mother, a wife, a lily browed daughter, put your- 
self in my place, lend me your sympathy; and at least 
applaud the loyalty that strangles all individuality, and 
renders me bound thrall of official duty. Counsel for the 
defence has been repeatedly offered, nay, pressed upon the 
prisoner, but as often persistently rejected; hence the almost 
paralyzing repugnance with which I approach my theme. 

“The Grand Jury of the county, at its last sitting, re- 
turned to this court a bill of indictment, charging the pris- 
oner at the bar with the wilful, deliberate and premeditated 
murder of Robert Luke Darrington, by striking him with 
a brass andiron. To this indictment she has pleaded ‘Not 
Guilty,’ and stands before her God and this community for 
trial. Gentlemen of the jury, you represent this common- 
wealth, jealous of the inviolability of its laws, and by virtue 
of your oaths, you are solemnly pledged to decide upon her 
guilt or innocence, in strict accordance with the evidence 
that may be laid before you. In fulfilling this sacred duty. 


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225 


you will, I feel assured, be governed exclusively by a stern 
regard to the demands of public justice. While it taxes our 
reluctant credulity to believe that a crime so hideous could 
have been committed by a woman’s hand, could have been 
perpetrated without provocation, within the borders of our 
peaceful community, nevertheless, the evidence we shall ad- 
duce must inevitably force you to the melancholy conclusion 
that the prisoner at the bar is guilty of the offence, with 
which she stands charged. The indictment which you are 
about to try, charges Beryl Brentano with the murder. 

“In outlining the evidence which will be presented in 
support of this indictment, I earnestly desire that you will 
give me your dispassionate and undivided attention; and I 
call God to witness, that disclaiming personal animosity 
and undue zeal for vengeance, I am sorrowfully indicating 
as an officer of the law, a path of inquiry, that must lead 
you to that goal where, before the altar of Truth, Justice 
swings her divine scales, and bids Nemesis unsheathe her 
sword. 

“On the afternoon of October the twenty-sixth, about 

three o’clock, a stranger arrived in X and inquired of 

the station agent what road would carry her to ‘Elm Bluff’, 
the home of General Barrington; assuring him she would 
return in time to take the north-bound train at 7.15, as 
urgent business necessitated her return. Demanding an 
interview with Gen’l Barrington, she was admitted, incog- 
nito, and proclaimed herself his granddaughter, sent hither 
by a sick mother, to procure a certain sum of money re- 
quired for specified purposes. That the interview was 
stormy, was characterized by fierce invective on her part, 
and by bitter denunciation and recrimination on his, is too 
well established to admit of question; and they parted im- 
placable foes, as is attested by the fact that he drove her 
from his room through a rear and unfrequented door, open- 
ing into a flower garden, whence she wandered over the 
grounds until she found the gate. The vital import of this 
interview lies in the great stress Gen’l Barrington placed 


226 


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upon the statement he iterated and reiterated; that he had 
disinherited his daughter, and drawn up a will bequeathing 
his entire estate to his step-son Prince. 

“Miss Brentano did not leave X at 7.15, though she 

had ample time to do so, after quitting ‘Elm Bluff’. She 
loitered about the station house until nearly half-past eight, 
then disappeared. At 10 p.m. she was seen and identified 
by a person who had met her at ‘Elm Bluff’, crouching 
behind a tree near the road that led to that ill-fated house, 
and when questioned regarding her presence there, gave 
unsatisfactory answers. At half-past two o’clock she was 
next seen hastening toward the station office, along the line 
of the railroad, from the direction of the water tank, which 
is situated nearly a mile north of town. Meanwhile an 
unusually severe storm had been followed by a drenching 
rain, and the stranger’s garments were wet, when, after a 
confused and contradictory account of her movements, she 
boarded the 3.05 train bound north. 

“During that night, certainly after ten o’clock, Gen’l Bar- 
rington was murdered. His vault was forced open, money 
was stolen, and most significant of all, the will was ab- 
stracted. Criminal jurisprudence holds that the absence of 
motive renders nugatory much weighty testimony. In this 
melancholy cause, could a more powerful motive be im- 
agined than that which goaded the prisoner to dip her fair 
hands in her grandfather’s blood, in order to possess and 
destroy that will, which stood as an everlasting barrier be- 
tween her and the estate she coveted? 

“Crimes are referrible to two potent passions of the hu- 
man soul; malice, engendering thirst for revenge, and the 
insatiable lust of money. If that old man had died a natural 
death, leaving the will he had signed, his property would 
have belonged to the adopted son, to whom he bequeathed 
it, and Mrs. Brentano and her daughter would have re- 
mained paupers. Cut off by assassination, and with no 
record of his last wishes in existence, the beloved son is 
bereft of his legacy, and Beryl Brentano and her mother 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


227 


inherit the blood-bought riches they covet. When arrested, 
gold coins and jewels identified as those formerly deposited 
in Gen’l Barrington’s vault, were found in possession of the 
prisoner; and as if every emissary of fate were armed with 
warrants for her detection, a handkerchief bearing her 
initials, and saturated with the chloroform which she had 
administered to her victim, was taken from the pillow, where 
his honored gray head rested, when he slept his last sleep 
on earth. Further analysis would insult your intelligence, 
and having very briefly laid before you the intended line 
of testimony, I believe I have assigned a motive for this 
monstrous crime, which must precipitate the vengeance of 
the law, in a degree commensurate with its enormity. Time, 
opportunity, motive, when in full accord, constitute a fatal 
triad, and the suspicious and unexplainable conduct of the 
prisoner in various respects, furnishes, in connection with 
other circumstances of this case, the strongest presumptive 
evidence of her guilt. These circumstances, far beyond the 
realm of human volition, smelted and shaped in the rolling 
mills of destiny, form the tramway along which already the 
car of doom thunders; and when they shall have been fully 
proved to you, by unassailable testimony, no alternative 
remains but the verdict of guilty. , Mournful as is the duty, 
and awfully solemn the necessity that leaves the issue of 
life and death in your hands, remember, gentlemen, Cur- 
ran’s immortal words: ‘A juror’s oath is the adamantine 
chain that binds the integrity of man to the throne of eternal 
justice’.” 

No trace of emotion was visible on the prisoner’s face, 
except at the harsh mention of her mother’s name ; when 
a shudder was perceptible, as in one where dentist’s steel 
pierces a sensitive nerve. In order to avoid the hundreds 
of eyes that stabbed her like merciless probes, her own had 
been raised and fixed upon a portion of the cornice in the 
room where a family of spiders held busy camp; but a 
fascination long resisted, finally drew their gaze down to a 


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seat near the bar, and she encountered the steady, sorrow- 
ful regard of Mr. Dunbar. 

Two months had elapsed since the Christmas morning on 
which she had rejected his floral offering, and during that 
weary season of waiting, she had refused to see any visitors 
except Dyce and Sister Serena; resolutely denying admit- 
tance to Miss Gordon. She knew that he had been absent, 
had searched for some testimony in New York, and now 
meeting his eyes, she saw a sudden change in their expres- 
sion — a sparkle, a smile of encouragement, a declaration of 
success. He fancied he understood the shadow of dread 
that drifted over her face; and she realized at that instant, 
that of all foes, she had most to apprehend from the man 
who she knew loved her with an unreasoning and ineradica- 
ble fervor. How much had he discovered? She could defy 
the district solicitor, the judge, the jury; but only one 
method of silencing the battery that was ambushed in those 
gleaming blue eyes presented itself. To extinguish his 
jealousy by removing the figment of a rival, might rob him 
of the motive that explained his persistent pursuit of the 
clue she had concealed; but it would simultaneously demol- 
ish, also, the barrier that stretched between Miss Gordon’s 
happy heart and the bitter waves of a cruel disappointment. 
If assured that her own affection was unpledged, would the 
bare form and ceremonial of honor bind his allegiance to 
his betrothed? Absorbed in these reflections, the prisoner 
became temporarily oblivious of the proceedings; and it was 
not until Sister Serena touched her arm, that she saw the 
vast throng was watching her, waiting for some reply. The 
Judge repeated his question: 

“Is it the desire of the prisoner to answer the presenta- 
tion of the prosecution? Having refused professional de- 
fence, you now have the option of addressing the Court.” 

“Let the prosecution proceed.” 

There was no quiver in her voice, as cold, sweet and 
distinct it found its way to the extremity of the wide apart- 
ment; yet therein lurked no defiance. She resumed her 


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229 


seat, and her eyes sank, until the long black fringes veiled 
their depths. Unperceived, Judge Dent had found a seat 
behind her, and leaning forward he whispered: 

“Will you permit me to speak for you?” 

“Thank you — no.” 

“But it cuts me to the heart to see you so forsaken, so 
helpless.” 

“God is my helper; He will not forsake me.” 

The first witness called and sworn was Doctor Ledyard, 
the physician who for many years had attended General 
Darrington; and who testified that when summoned to ex- 
amine the body of deceased, on the morning of the inquest, 
he had found it so rigid that at least eight hours must have 
elapsed since life became extinct. Had discovered no blood 
stains, and only two contusions, one on the right temple, 
where a circular black spot was conspicuous, and a bluish 
bruise over the region of the heart. He had visited de- 
ceased on the morning of previous day, and he then ap- 
peared much better, and almost relieved of rheumatism and 
pains attributable to an old wound in the right knee. The 
skull had not been fractured by the blow on the temple, but 
witness believed it had caused death; and the andiron, 
which he identified as the one found on the floor close to 
the deceased, was so unusually massive, he was positive 
that if hurled with any force, it would produce a fatal 
result. 

Mr. Churchill: “Did you at that examination detect any 
traces of chloroform?” 

“There was an odor of chloroform very perceptible when 
we lifted the hair to examine the skull; and on searching 
the room, we found a vial which had contained chloroform, 
and was beside the pillow, where a portion had evidently 
leaked out.” 

“Could death have occurred in consequence of inhaling 
that chloroform?” 

“If so, the deceased could never have risen, and would 
have been found in his bed; moreover, the limbs were 


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drawn up, and bent into a position totally inconsistent with 
any theory of death produced by anaesthetics; and the body 
was rigid as iron.” 

The foregoing testimony was confirmed by that of Doctor 
Cranmar, a resident physician, who had been summoned by 
the Coroner to assist Doctor Ledyard in the examination, 
reported formally at the inquest. 

“Here, gentlemen of the jury, is the fatal weapon with 
which a woman’s hand, supernaturally nerved in the strug- 
gle for gain, struck down, destroyed a venerable old man, an 
honored citizen, whose gray hairs should have shielded him 
from the murderous assault of a mercenary adventuress. 
Can she behold without a shudder, this tell-tale instrument 
of her monstrous crime?” 

High above his head, Mr. Churchill raised the old-fash- 
ioned andiron, and involuntarily Beryl glanced at the quaint 
brass figure, cast in the form of a unicorn, with a heavy 
ball surmounting the horn. 

“Abednego Darrington !” 

Sullen, crestfallen and woe-begone was the demeanor of 
the old negro, who had been brought vi et armis by a con- 
stable, from the seclusion of a corner of the “Bend Planta- 
tion”, where he had secreted himself, to avoid the shame 
of bearing testimony against his mistress’ child. When 
placed on the witness stand, he crossed his arms over his 
chest, planted his right foot firmly in advance, and fixed his 
eyes on the leather strings that tied his shoes. 

After some unimportant preliminaries, the District So- 
licitor asked: 

“When did you first see the prisoner, who now sits before 
you?” 

“When she come to our house, the evening before ole 
Marster died.” 

“You admitted her to your Master’s presence?” 

“I never tuck no sech libberties. He tole me to let her 
in.” 

“You carried her to his room?” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


231 


‘‘Yes, sir.” 

“About what time of the day was it?” 

“Don’t know.” 

“Gen’l Barrington always dined at three o’clock. Was 
it before or after dinner ?” 

“After.” 

“How long was the prisoner in the General’s room?” 

“Don’t know.” 

“Did she leave the house by the front door, or the side 
door?” 

“Can’t say. Didn’t see her when she come out.” 

“About how long was she in the house?” 

“I totes no watch, and I never had no luck guessing. 
I’m shore to land wrong.” 

“Was it one hour or two?” 

“Mebbe more, mebbe less.” 

“Where were you during that visit ?” 

“Deedin’ my game pullets in the backyard.” 

“Did you hear any part of the conversation between the 
prisoner and Gen’l Barrington?” 

“No, sir ! I’m above the meanness of eavesdrapping.” 

“How did you learn that she was the granddaughter of 
Gen’l Barrington?” 

“Miss Angerline, the white ’oman what mends and sews, 
come to the back piazer, and beckoned me to run there. 
She said ther must be a ‘high ole fracas’, them was her 
words, agoin’ on in Marster’s room, for he was cussin’ and 
swearin’, and his granddaughter was jawing back very 
vicious. Sez I, ‘Who’? Sez she, ‘His granddaughter; that 
is Ellice’s chile’. Sez I, ‘How do you know so much’? Sez 
she, ‘I was darning them liberry curtains, and I couldn’t 
help hearing the wrangle’. Sez I, ‘You picked a oncommon 
handy time to tackle them curtains; they must be mighty 
good to cure the ear-itch’. She axed me if I didn’t see the 
family favor in the ’oman’s face; and I tole her no, but I 
would see for myself. Sez she, to me, ‘No you won’t, for the 


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Gen’l is in a tearing rage, and he’s done drove her out, 
and kicked and slammed the doors. She’s gone.’ ” 

“Then you did not see her?” 

“I went to the front piazer, and I seen her far down the 
lawn, but Marster rung his bell so savage, I had to run 
back to him.” 

“Did he tell you the prisoner was his granddaughter?” 

“No, sir.” 

“Did you mention the fact to him?” 

“I wouldn’t ’a dared to meddle with his fambly biz- 
ness !” 

“He appeared very angry and excited?” 

“He ’peard to want some ole Conyyac what was in the 
sideboard, and I brung the bottle to him.” 

“Do you remember whether his vault in the wall was 
open, when you answered the bell?” 

“I didn’t notice it.” 

“Where did you sleep that night?” 

“On a pallet in the middle passage, nigh the star steps.” 

“Was that your usual custom?” 

“No, sir. But the boy what had been sleepin’ in the 
house while ole Marster was sick, had gone to set up with 
his daddy’s corpse, and I tuck his place.” 

“Did you hear any unusual noise during the night?” 

“Only the squalling of the pea-fowul what was oncom- 
mon oneasy, and the thunder that was ear-splitting. One 
clap was so tremenjous it raised me plum off’en the pallet, 
and jarred me to my backbone, as if a cannon had gone 
off close by.” 

“Now, Bedney, state carefully all the circumstances under 
which you found your master the next morning; and re- 
member you are on your oath, to speak the truth, and all 
the truth.” 

“He was a early riser, and always wanted his shavin’ 
water promp’. When his bell didn’t ring, I thought the 
storm had kep’ him awake, and he was having a mornin’ 
nap, to make up for lost time. The clock had struck eight. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


233 


and the cook said as how the steak and chops was as dry 
as a bone from waitin’, and so I got the water and went 
to Marster’s door. It was shet tight, and I knocked easy. 
He never answered; so I knocked louder; and thinkin’ 
somethin’ was shorely wrong, I opened the door — ” 

“Go on. What did you find?” 

“Mars Alfred, sir, it’s very harryfyin to my feelins.” 

“Go on. You are required to state all you saw, all you 
know.” 

Bedney drew back his right foot, advanced his left. Took 
out his handkerchief, wiped his face and refolded his arms. 

“My Marster was layin’ on the rug before the fire- 
place, and his knees was all drawed up. His right arm 
was stretched out, so — and his left hand was all doubled up. 
I know’d he was dead, before I fetched him, for his face 
was set; and pinched and blue. I reckon I hollered, but 
I can’t say, for the next thing I knowed, the horsier and 
the cook, and Miss Angerline, and Dyce, my ole ’oman, 
and Gord knows who all, was streamin’ in and out and 
screamin’.” 

“What was the condition of the room?” 

“The front window was up, and the blinds was flung 
wide open, and a cheer was upside down close to it. The 
red vases what stood on the fire-place mantle was smashed 
on the carpet, and the handi’on was close to Marster’s right 
hand. The vault was open, and papers was strowed plentiful 
round on the floor under it. Then the neighburs and the 
Doctor, and the Crowner come runnin’ in, and I sot down 
by the bed and cried like a chile. Pretty soon they turned 
us all out and hilt the inquess.” 

“You do not recollect any other circumstance?” 

“The lamp on the table was bumin’ — and ther’ wan’t 
much oil left in it. I seen Miss Angerline blow it out, 
after the Doctor come.” 

“Who found the chloroform vial?” 

“Don’t know.” 


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“Did you hear any name mentioned as that of the mur- 
derer ?” 

“Miss Angerline tole the Crowner, that ef the will was 
missin’, Gen’l Barrington’s granddaughter had stole it. 
They two, with some other gentleman, sarched the vault, 
and Miss Angerline said everything was higgledy piggledy 
and no will there.” 

“You testified before the Coroner?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Why did you not give him the handkerchief you found?” 

“I didn’t have it then.” 

“When and where did you get it ? Be very careful 

now.” 

For the first time Bedney raised his eyes toward the 
place where Dyce sat near the prisoner, and he hesitated. 
He took some tobacco from his vest pocket, stowed it away 
in the hollow of his cheek, and re-crossed his arms. 

“When Marster was dressed, and they carried him out 
to the drawing-room, Dyce was standin’ cryin’ by the fire- 
place, and I went to the bed, and put my hand under the 
bolster, where Marster always kep’ his watch and his 
pistol. The watch was ther’ but no pistol; and just sorter 
stuffed under the pillow case — was a hank’cher. I tuk the 
watch straight to the gentlemen in the drawin’-room, and 
they come back and sarched for the pistol, and we foun’ 
it layin’ in its case in the table draw’. Of all the nights 
in his life, ole Marster had forgot to lay his pistol handy.” 

“Never mind about the pistol. What became of the 
handkerchief?” 

“When I picked it up, an inj un-rubber stopper rolled out, 
and as ther’ wan’t no value in a hank’cher, I saw no harm 
in keepin’ it — for a ’mento of ole Marster’s death.” 

“You knew it was a lady’s handkerchief.” 

“No, sir! I didn’t know it then; and what’s more, I 
don’t know it now.” 

“Is not this the identical handkerchief you found?” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


235 


“Can’t say. ’Dentical is a ticklish trap for a pusson on 
oath. It do look like it, to be shore; but two seed in a 
okrey pod is ezactly alike, and one is one, and t’other is 
t’other.” 

“Look at it. To the best of your knowledge and belief 
it is the identical handkerchief you found on Gen’l Barring- 
ton’s pillow?” 

“What I found had red specks sewed in the border, and 
this seems jest like it; but I don’t sware to no dentical— 
’cause I means to be kereful ; and I will stand to the aidge 
of my oath; but — Mars Alfred — don’t shove me over it.” 

“Can’t you read?” 

“No, sir; I never hankered after book-larnin’ tomfoolery, 
and other freedom frauds.” 

“You know your A B C’s?” 

“No more ’n a blind mule.” 

As the solicitor took from the table in front of the jury 
box, the embroidered square of cambric, and held it up by 
two corners, every eye in the court-room fastened upon it; 
and a deadly^ faintness seized the prisoner, whitening lips 
that hitherto had kept their scarlet outlines. 

“Gentlemen of the jury, if the murdered man could stand 
before you, for one instant only, his frozen finger would 
point to the fatal letters which destiny seems to have left 
as a bloody brand. Here in indelible colors are wrought 
‘B. B.’ ! — Beryl Brentano. Do you wonder, gentlemen, that 
when this overwhelming evidence of her guilt came into my 
possession, compassion for a beautiful woman was strangled 
by supreme horror, in the contemplation of the depravity of 
a female monster? If these crimson letters were gaping 
wounds, could their bloody lips more solemnly accuse yonder 
blanched, shuddering, conscience-stricken woman of the 
sickening crime of murdering her aged, infirm grandfather, 
from whose veins she drew the red tide that now curdles at 
her heart?” 


236 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


CHAPTER XVII. 

As the third day of the trial wore away, the dense crowd 
in the court-room became acquainted with the sensation of 
having been unjustly defrauded of the customary public per- 
quisite; because the monotonous proceedings were entirely 
devoid of the spirited verbal duels, the microscopic hair 
splitting, the biting sarcasms of opposing counsel, the brow- 
beating of witnesses^ the tenacious wrangling over invisible 
legal points, which usually vary and spice the routine and 
stimulate the interest of curious spectators. When a spirit- 
less fox disdains to double, and stands waiting for the 
hounds, who have only to rend it, hunters feel cheated, and 
deem it no chase. 

To the impatient spectators, it appeared a very tame, 
one-sided, and anomalous trial, where like a slow stream 
the evidences of guilt oozed, and settled about the prisoner, 
who challenged the credibility of no witness, and waived 
all the privileges of cross-examination. Now and then, 
the audience criticised in whispers the “undue latitude” al- 
lowed by the Judge, to the District Solicitor; but their 
“exceptions” were informal, and the prosecution received 
no serious or important rebuff. 

Was the accused utterly callous, or paralyzed by con- 
sciousness of her crime; or biding her time for a dramatic 
outburst of vindicating testimony? To her sensitive nature, 
the ordeal of sitting day after day to be stared at by a 
curious and prejudiced public, was more torturing than the 
pangs of Marsyas; and she wondered whether a courageous 
Roman captive who was shorn of his eyelids, and set under 
the blistering sun of Africa, suffered any more keenly; but 
motionless, apparently impassive as a stone mask, on whose 
features pitiless storms beat in vain, she bore without 
wincing the agony of her humiliation. Very white and 
still, she sat hour by hour with downcast eyes, and folded 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


237 


hands ; and those who watched most closely could detect only 
one change of position; now and then she raised her clasped 
hands, and rested her lips a moment on the locked fingers, 
then dropped them wearily on her lap. 

Even when a juryman asked two searching questions of 
a witness, she showed no sign of perturbation, and avoided 
meeting the eyes in the jury-box, as though they belonged 
to basilisks. Was it only three days since the beginning of 
this excruciating martyrdom of soul; and how much longer 
could she endure silently, and keep her reason? 

At times. Sister Serena’s hand forsook the knitting, to 
lay a soft, caressing touch of encouragement and sympathy 
on the girl’s shoulder ; and Dyce’s burning indignation 
vented itself in frequent audible grating of her strong white 
teeth. So passed Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, in the ex- 
amination of witnesses who recapitulated all that had been 
elicited at the preliminary investigation; and each nook and 
cranny of recollection in the mind of Anthony Burk, the 
station agent; of Belshazzer Tatem, the lame gardener; of 
lean and acrid Miss Angeline, the seamstress, was illumi- 
nated by the lurid light of Mr. Churchill’s adroit interroga- 
tion. Thus far, the prosecution had been conducted by the 
District Solicitor, with the occasional assistance of Mr. 
Wolverton, who, in conjunction with Mr. Dunbar, had ap- 
peared as representative of the Darrington estate, and its 
legal heir. Prince; and when court adjourned on Wednes- 
day, the belief was generally entertained that no defence was 
possible; and that at the last moment, the prisoner would 
confess her crime, and appeal to the mercy of the jury. As 
the deputy sheriff led his prisoner toward the rear entrance, 
where stood the dismal funereal black wagon in which she 
was brought from prison to court. Judge Dent came quickly 
to meet her. 

“My niece. Miss Gordon, could not, of course, come into 
the court-room, but she is here in the library, with her aunt, 
and desires to see you for a moment?” 


238 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


“Tell her I am grateful for her kind motives, but I wish 
to see no one now.” 

“For your own sake, consider the — ah ! here is my niece.” 

“I hope you need no verbal assurance of my deep sym- 
pathy, and my constant prayers,” said Leo, taking one pas- 
sive hand between hers, and pressing it warmly. 

“Miss Gordon, I am comforted by your compassion, and 
by your unwavering confidence in a stranger whom your 
townsmen hold up as a ‘female monster’. Because I so 
profoundly realize how good you are, I am unwilling that 
you should identify yourself with my hopeless cause. My 
sufferings will soon be over, and then I want no shadowy 
reflex cast upon the smiling blue sky of your future. I have 
nothing more to lose, save the burden of a life — that I shall 
be glad to lay down; but you — ! Be careful, do not 
jeopardize your beautiful dream of happiness.” 

“Why do you persist in rejecting the overtures of those 
who could assist, who might successfully defend you? I 
beg of you, consent to receive and confer with counsel, even 
to-night.” 

“You will never understand why I must not, till the earth 
gives up her dead. You tremble, because only one more 
link can be added to the chain that is coiling about my 
neck, and that link is the testimony of the man whose name 
you expect to bear. Miss Gordon” — she stooped closer, and 
whispered slowly: “Do not upbraid your lover; be tender, 
cling to him; and afford me the consolation of knowing 
that the unfortunate woman you befriended, and trusted, cast 
not even a fleeting shadow between your heart and his. 
Pray for me, that I may be patient and strong. God bless 
you.” 

Turning swiftly, she hurried on to the officer, who had 
courteously withdrawn a few yards distant. As he opened 
the door of the wagon, he handed her a loosely folded sheet 
of paper. 

“I promised to deliver your answer as soon as possible.” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 239 

By aid of the red glow, burning low in the western sky, 
she read: 

“Mr. Dunbar requests that for her own sake, Miss 
Brentano will grant him an interview this evening.” 

“My answer must necessarily be verbal. Say that I will 
see no one.” 

To the solitude and darkness of prison she fled for relief, 
as into some merciful sheltering arms; and not even the 
loving solicitude of Mrs. Singleton was permitted to pene- 
trate her seclusion, or share her dreary vigil. Another 
sleepless night dragged its leaden hours to meet the dawn, 
bringing no rest to the desolate soul, who silently grappled 
with fate, while every womanly instinct shuddered at the 
loathsome degradation forced upon her. Face downward 
on her hard, narrow cot, she recalled the terrible accusa- 
tions, the opprobrious epithets, and tearless, convulsive sobs 
of passionate protest shook her from head to foot. 

Tortured with indignation and shame, at the insults 
heaped upon her, yet sternly resolved to endure silently, 
these nights were veritable stations along her Via Dolorosa; 
and fortified her for the daily flagellation in front of the 
jury-box. 

On Thursday a slow, sleeting rain enveloped the world in 
a gray cowl, bristling with ice needles; yet when Judge 
Parkman took his seat at nine o’clock, there was a percepti- 
ble increase in the living mass, packed in every available 
inch of space. 

For the first time, Mr. Dunbar’s seat between his col- 
leagues was vacant ; and Mr. Churchill and Mr. Wolverton 
were conversing in an animated whisper. 

Clad in mourning garments, and with a long crape veil 
put back from her face, the prisoner was escorted to her 
accustomed place; and braced by a supreme effort for the 
critical hour, which she felt assured was at hand, her pale 
set features gleamed like those of a marble statue shrouded 
in black. 


240 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


Called to the stand, Simon Frisby testified that “he was 
telegraph operator, and night train despatcher for railway 

in X . On October the twenty-sixth, had just gone on 

duty at 8 p.m. at the station, when prisoner came in, and 
sent a telegram to New York. A copy of that message had 
been surrendered to the District Solicitor. Witness had re- 
mained all night in his office, which adjoined the ladies' 
waiting-room, and his attention having been attracted by 
the unusual fact that it was left open and lighted, he had 
twice gone to the door and looked in, but saw no one. 
Thought the last inspection was about two o’clock, immedi- 
ately after he had sent a message to the conductor on train 
No. 4. Saw prisoner when she came in, a half hour later, 
and heard the conversation between her and Burk, the station 
agent. Was very positive prisoner could not have been in 
the ladies’ waiting-room during the severe storm.” 

Mr. Churchill read aloud the telegram addressed to Mrs. 
Ignace Brentano: “Complete success required delay. All 
will be satisfactory. Expect me Saturday. B. B.” 

He commented on its ambiguous phraseology, sent the 
message to the jury for inspection, and resumed his chair. 

“Lennox Dunbar.” 

Sister Serena’s knitting fell from her fingers; Dyce 
groaned audibly, and Judge Dent, sitting quite near, uttered 
a heavy sigh. The statue throbbed into life, drew herself 
proudly up; and with a haughty poise of the head, her 
grand eloquent gray eyes looked up at the witness, and for 
the first time during the trial bore a challenge. For fully 
a moment, eye met eye, soul looked into soul, with only 
a few feet of space dividing prisoner from witness; and as 
the girl scanned the dark, resolute, sternly chiselled face, 
cold, yet handsome as some faultless bronze god, a singular 
smile unbent her frozen lips, and Judge Dent and Sister 
Serena wondered what the scarcely audible ejaculation 
meant : 

“At the mercy of Tiberius!” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


241 


No faintest reflection of the fierce pain at his heart could 
have been discerned on that non-committal countenance; 
and as he turned to the jury, his swart magnetic face ap- 
peared cruelly hard, sinister. 

“I first saw the prisoner at ‘Elm Bluff’, on the afternoon 
previous to Gen’l Barrington’s death. When I came out 
of the house, she was sitting bareheaded on the front steps, 
fanning herself with her hat, and while I was untying my 
horse, she followed Bedney into the library. The blinds 
were open and I saw her pass the window, walking in the 
direction of the bedroom.” 

Mr. Churchill : “At that time did you suspect her relation- 
ship to your client, Gen’l Barrington?” 

“I did not.” 

“What was the impression left upon your mind?” 

“That she was a distinguished stranger, upon some im- 
portant errand.” 

“She excited your suspicions at once?” 

“Nothing had occurred to justify suspicion. My curiosity 
was aroused. Several hours later I was again at ‘Elm 
Bluff’ on legal business, and found Gen’l Barrington much 
disturbed in consequence of an interview with the prisoner, 
who, he informed me, was the child of his daughter, whom 
he had many years previous disowned and disinherited. In 
referring to this interview, his words were: ‘I was harsh 
to the girl, so harsh that she turned upon me, savage as a 
strong cub defending a crippled, helpless dam. Mother and 
daughter know now that the last card has been played; 
for I gave the girl distinctly to understand, that at my 
death Prince would inherit every iota of my estate, and that 
my will had been carefully written in order to cut them off 
without a cent.’ ” 

“You were led to infer that Gen’l Barrington had refused 
her application for money?” 

“There was no mention of an application for money, 
hence I inferred nothing.” 


242 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


“During that conversation, the last Avhich Gen’I Barring- 
ton held on earth, did he not tell you he was oppressed by 
an awful presentiment connected with his granddaughter?” 

“His words were : ‘Somehow I am unable to get rid of the 
strange, disagreeable presentiment that girl let behind her as 
a farewell legacy. She stood there at the glass door, and 
raised her hand: ‘Gen’I Barrington, when you lie down to 
die, may God have more mercy on your poor soul, than you 
have shown to your suffering child.’ 

“I advised him to sleep off the disagreeable train of 
thought, and as I bade him good night, his last words 
were: 

“ ‘I shall write to Prince to come home.’ ” 

“What do you know concerning the contents of your 
client’s will?” 

“The original will was drawn up by my father in 187 — , 
but last May, Gen’I Barrington required me to re-write it, 
as he wished to increase the amount of a bequest to a cer- 
tain charitable institution. The provisions of the will were, 
that with the exception of various specified legacies, his 
entire estate, real and personal, should be given to his step- 
son Prince; and it was carefully worded, with the avowed 
intention of barring all claims that might be presented by 
Ellice Brentano or her heirs.” 

“Do you recollect any allusion to jewelry?” 

“One clause of the will set aside a case of sapphire 
stones, with the direction that whenever Prince Barrington 
married, they should be worn by the lady as a bridal pres- 
ent from him.” 

“Would you not deem it highly incompatible with all you 
know of the Gen’l’s relentless character, that said sapphires 
and money should have been given to the prisoner?” 

“My surmises would be irrelevant and valueless to the 
Court; and facts, indisputable facts, are all that should be 
required of witnesses.” 

“When and where did you next see the prisoner?” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


243 


Cold, crisp, carefully accentuated, his words fell like lead 
upon the ears of all present, whose sympathies were enlisted 
for the desolate woman ; and as he stood, tall, graceful, with 
one hand thrust within his vest, the other resting easily 
on the back of the bench near him, his clear cut face so 
suggestive of metallic medallions, gave no more hint of the 
smouldering flame at his heart than the glittering ice crown 
of Eiriksjokull betrays the fierce lava tides beating beneath 
its frozen crust. 

“At 10 o’clock on the same night, I saw the prisoner on 
the road leading from town to ‘Elm Bluff’, and not farther 
than half a mile from the cedar bridge spanning the 
‘branch’, at the foot of the hill where the iron gate stands.” 

“She was then going in the direction of ‘Elm Bluff?”’ 

“She was sitting on the ground, with her head leaning 
against a pine tree, but she rose as I approached.” 

“As it was at night, is there a possibility of your having 
mistaken some one else for the prisoner?” 

“None whatever. She wore no hat, and the moon shone 
full on her face.” 

“Did you not question her about her presence there, at 
such an hour?” 

“I asked: ‘Madam, you seem a stranger; have you lost 
your way?’ She answered, ‘No, sir.’ I added: ‘Pardon 
me, but having seen you at “Elm Bluff” this afternoon, I 
thought it possible you had missed the road.’ She made no 
reply, and I rode on to town.” 

“She betrayed so much trepidation and embarrassment, 
that your suspicion was at once aroused?” 

“She evinced neither trepidation nor embarrassment. Her 
manner was haughty and repellent, as though designed to 
rebuke impertinence. Next morning, when informed of the 
peculiar circumstances attending Gen’l Barrington’s death, 
I felt it incumbent upon me to communicate to the magis- 
trate the facts which I have just narrated.” 

“An overwhelming conviction of the prisoner’s guilt im- 
pelled you to demand her arrest?” 


244 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


“Overwhelming conviction rarely results from merely cir- 
cumstantial evidence, but a combination of accusing circum- 
stances certainly pointed to the prisoner; and following their 
guidance, I am responsible for her arrest and detention for 
trial. To the scrutiny of the Court I have submitted every 
fact that influenced my action, and the estimate of their 
value decided by the jurymen, must either confirm the 
cogency of my reasoning, or condemn my rash fallibility. 
Having under oath conscientiously given all the evidence 
in my possession, that the prosecution would accept or de- 
sire, I now respectfully request, that unless the prisoner 
chooses to exercise her right of cross-examination, my col- 
leagues of the prosecution, and his Honor, will grant me 
a final discharge as witness.” 

Turning toward Beryl, Judge Parkman said: 

“It is my duty again to remind you, that the cross-exam- 
ination of witnesses is one of the most important methods 
of defence; as thereby inaccuracies of statement regarding 
time, place, etc., are often detected in criminal prosecutions, 
which otherwise might remain undiscovered. To this in- 
valuable privilege of every defendant, I call your attention 
once more. Will you cross-question the witness on the 
stand ?” 

Involuntarily her eyes sought those of the witness, and 
despite his locked and guarded face, she read there an inti- 
mation that vaguely disquieted her. She knew that the 
battle with him must yet be fought. 

“I waive the right.” 

“Then, with the consent of the prosecuting counsel, wit- 
ness is discharged, subject to recall should the necessities of 
rebuttal demand it.” 

“By agreement with my colleagues, I ask for final dis- 
charge, subject to your Honor’s approval.” 

“If in accordance with their wishes, the request is 
granted.” 

The clock on the turret struck one, the hour of adjourn- 
ment, and ere recess was declared, Mr. Churchill rose. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


245 


“Having now proved by trustworthy and unquestioned 
witnesses, a dark array of facts, which no amount of addi- 
tional testimony could either strengthen, or controvert, the 
prosecution here rest their case before the jury for inspec- 
tion; and feeling assured that only one conclusion can 
result, will call no other witness, unless required in re- 
buttal.” 

Desiring to be alone. Beryl had shut out even Sister 
Serena, and as the officer locked her into a dark ante- 
chamber, adjoining the court-room, she began to pace the 
floor. One tall, narrow window, dim with inside dust, 
showed her through filmy cobwebs the gray veil of rain 
falling ceaselessly outside, darkening the day that seemed 
a fit type of her sombre-hued life, drawing swiftly to its 
close, with no hope of rift in the clouds, no possibility of 
sunset glow even to stain its grave. Oh ! to be hidden 
safely in mother earth — away from the gaping crowd that 
thirsted for her blood ! — at rest in darkness and in silence ; 
with the maddening stings of outraged innocence and 
womanly delicacy stilled forever. Oh ! the coveted peace of 
lying under the sod, with only nodding daisies, whispering 
grasses, crystal chimes of vernal rain, solemn fugue of win- 
try winds between her tired, aching eyes and the fair, 
eternal heavens ! Harrowing days and sleepless, horror- 
haunted nights, invincible sappers and miners, had robbed 
her of strength; and the uncontrollable shivering that now 
and then seized her, warned her that her nerves were in 
revolt against the unnatural strain. The end was not far 
distant, she must endure a little longer; but that last battle 
with Mr. Dunbar? On what ground, with what weapons 
would he force her to fight? Kneeling in front of a 
wooden bench that lined one side of the room, she laid her 
head on the seat, covered her face with her hands, and 
prayed for guidance, for divine help in her hour of supreme 
desolation. 

“God of the helpless, succor me in my need. Forbid that 
through weakness the sacrifice should be incomplete. Lead, 


246 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


sustain, fortify me with patience, that I may ransom the 
soul I have promised to save.” 

After a time, when she resumed her walk, a strange ex- 
pedient presented itself. If she sent for Mr. Dunbar, ex- 
acted an oath of secrecy, and confided the truth to his 
keeping, would it avail to protect her secret ; would it silence 
him? Could she stoop so low as to throw herself upon his 
mercy? Therein lay the nauseous lees of her cup of hu- 
miliation; yet if she drained this last black drop, would any 
pledge have power to seal his lips, when he saw that she 
must die? 

The deputy sheriff unlocked the door, and she mechanically 
followed him. 

‘T wish you would drink this glass of wine. You look 
so exhausted, and the air in yonder is so close, it is enough 
to stifle a mole. This will help to brace you up.” 

“Thank you very much, but I could not take it. I can 
bear my wrongs even to the end, and that must be very 
near.” 

As he ushered her into the court-room. Judge Dent met 
her, took her hand, and led her to the seat where Dyce 
and Sister Serena awaited her return. 

“My poor child, be courageous now; and remember that 
you have some friends here, who are praying God to help 
and deliver you.” 

“Did He deliver His own Son from the pangs of death? 
Pray, that I may be patient to endure.” 

One swift glance showed her that Mr. Dunbar, forsaking 
his former place beside the district attorney, was sitting 
very near, just in front of her. The jurymen filed slowly 
into their accustomed seats, and the judge, who had been 
resting his head on his hand, straightened himself, and put 
aside a book. There was an ominous hush pervading the 
dense crowd, and in that moment of silent expectancy. 
Beryl shut her eyes and communed with her God. Some 
mystical exaltation of soul removed her from the realm of 
nervous dread; and a peace, that this v/orld neither gives 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


247 


nor takes away, settled upon her. Sister Serena untied 
and took off the crape veil and bonnet, and as she resumed 
her seat. Judge Parkman turned to the prisoner.. 

“In assuming the responsibility of your own defence you 
have adopted a line of policy which, however satisfactory to 
yourself, must, in the opinion of the public, have a tendency 
to invest your cause with peculiar peril; therefore I impress 
upon you the fact, that while the law holds you innocent, 
until twelve men agree that the evidence proves you guilty, 
the time has arrived when your cause depends upon your 
power to refute the charges, and disprove the alleged facts 
arrayed against you. The discovery and elucidation of 
Truth, is the supreme aim of a court of justice, and to its 
faithful ministers the defence of innocence is -even more 
imperative than the conviction of guih' The law is a Gi- 
braltar, fortified and armed by the Cv^asummate wisdom of 
successive civilizations, as an impregnable refuge for inno- 
cence; and here, within its protecting bulwarks, as in the 
house of a friend, you are called on to plea4 your defence. 
You have heard the charges of the prosecution; listened to 
the testimony of the witnesses; and having taken your 
cause into your own hands, you must now stand up and 
defend it.” 

She rose and walked a few steps closer to the jury, and 
for the first time during the trial, looked at them steadily. 
White as a statue of Purity, she stood for a moment, with 
her wealth of shining auburn hair coiled low on her shapely 
head, and waving in soft outlines around her broad full 
brow. Unnaturally calm, and wonderfully beautiful in that 
sublime surrender, which like a halo illumines the myth of 
Antigone, it was not strange that every heart thrilled, when 
upon the strained ears of the multitude fell the clear, sweet, 
indescribably mournful voice. 

“When a magnolia blossom or a white camellia just fully 
open, is snatched by violent hands, bruised, crushed, black- 
ened, scarred by rents, is it worth keeping? No power can 
undo the ruin, and since all that made it lovely~its stain- 


248 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


less purity — is irrevocably destroyed, why preserve it ? 
Such a pitiable wreck you have made of the young life I 
am bidden to stand up and defend. Have you left me any- 
thing to live for? Dragged by constables before prejudiced 
strangers, accused of awful crimes, denounced as a female 
monster, herded with convicts, can you imagine any reason 
why I should struggle to prolong a disgraced, hopelessly 
ruined existence? My shrivelled, mutilated life is in your 
hands, and if you decide to crush it quickly, you will save 
me much suffering; as when having, perhaps unintentionally, 
mangled some harmless insect, you mercifully turn back, 
grind it under your heel, and end its torture. My life is 
too wretched now to induce me to defend it, but there is 
something I hold far dearer, my reputation as an honorable 
Christian woman; something I deem most sacred of all — the 
unsullied purity of the name my father and mother bore. 
Because I am innocent of every charge made against me, I 
owe it to my dead, to lift their honored name out of the 
mire. I have pondered the testimony; and the awful mass 
of circumstances that have combined to accuse me, seems 
indeed so overwhelming, that as each witness came forward, 
I have asked myself, am I the victim of some baleful 

destiny, placed in the grooves of destroying fate — foreor- 

dained from the foundations of the world to bear the burden 
of another’s^ guilt? You have been told that I killed Gen’l 
Barrington, and stole his money and jewels, and destroyed 
his will, in order to possess his estate. Trustworthy wit- 
nesses have sworn to facts, which I cannot deny, and you 
believe these facts; and yet, while the snare tightens around 

my feet, and I believe you intend to condemn me, I stand 

here, and look you in the face — as one day we thirteen will 
surely stand at the final judgment — and in the name of the 
God I love, and fear, and trust, I call you each to witness, 
that I am innocent of every charge in the indictment. My 
hands are as unstained, my soul is as unsullied by theft or 
bloodshed, as your sinless babes cooing in their cradles. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


249 


“If you can clear your minds of the foul tenants thrust 
into them, try for a little while to forget all the monstrous 
crimes you have heard ascribed to me, and as you love your 
mothers, wives, daughters, go back with me, leaving preju- 
dice behind, and listen dispassionately to my most melan- 
choly story. The river of death rolls so close to my weary 
feet, that I speak as one on the brink of eternity; and as 
I hope to meet my God in peace, I shall tell you the truth. 
Sometimes it almost shakes our faith in God’s justice, when 
we suffer terrible consequences, solely because we did our 
duty; and it seems to me bitterly hard, inscrutable, that all 
my misfortunes should have come upon me thick and fast, 
c ' -ly because I obeyed my mother. You, fathers, say to 
your children, ‘Do this for my sake,’ and lovingly they 
spring to accomplish your wishes; and when they are de- 
voured by agony, and smothered by disgrace, can you suf- 
ficiently pity them, blind artificers of their own ruin? 

“Four months ago I was a very poor girl, but proud and 
happy, because by my own work I could support my mother 
and myself. Her health failed rapidly, and life hung upon 
an operation and certain careful subsequent treatment, which 
it required one hundred dollars to secure. I was competing 
for a prize that would lift us above want, but time pressed; 
the doctor urged prompt action, and my mother desired me 
to come South, see her father, deliver a letter and beg 
assistance. As long as possible, I resisted her entreaties, 
because I shrank from the degradation of coming as a beggar 
to the man who, I knew, had disinherited and disowned his 
daughter. 

“Finally, strangling my rebellious reluctance, I accepted 
the bitter task. My mother kissed me good-bye, laid her 
hands on my head and blessed me for acceding to her wishes ; 
and so — following the finger of Duty — I came here to be 
trampled, mangled, destroyed. When I arrived, I found I 
could catch a train going north at 7.15, and I bought a return 
ticket, and told the agent I intended to take that train. I 
walked to ‘Elm Bluff,’ and after waiting a few moments 


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was admitted to Gen’l Barrington’s presence. The letter 
which I delivered was an appeal for one hundred dollars, 
and it was received with an outburst of wrath, a flood of 
fierce and bitter denunciation of my parents. The inter- 
view was indescribably painful, but toward its close, Gen’l 
Barrington relented. He opened his safe or vault, and took 
out a square tin box. Placing it on the table, he removed 
some papers, and counted down into my hand, five gold 
coins — twenty dollars each. When I turned to leave him, 
he called me back, gave me the morocco case, and stated 
that the sapphires were very costly, and could be sold for 
a large amount. He added, with great bitterness, that he 
gave them, simply because they were painful souvenirs of 
a past, which he was trying to forget; and that he had 
intended them as a bridal gift to his son Prince’s wife; but 
as they had been bought by my mother’s mother as a pres- 
ent for her only child, he would send them to their original 
destination, for the sake of his first wife, Helena. 

“I left the room by the veranda door, because he bade 
me do so, to avoid what he termed ‘the prying of servants.’ 
I broke some clusters of chrysanthemums blooming in the 
rose garden, to carry to my mother, and then I hurried 
away. If the wages of disobedience be death, then fate 
reversed the mandate, and obedience exacts my life as a 
forfeit. Think of it: I had ample time to reach the station 
before seven o’clock, and if I had gone straight on, all 
would have been well. I should have taken the 7.15 train, 
and left forever this horrible place. If I had not loitered, 
I should have seen once more my mother’s face, have es- 
caped shame, despair, ruin — oh! the blessedness of what 
‘might have been 1’ 

“Listen, my twelve judges, and pity the child who obeyed 
at all hazards. Poor though I was, I bought a small bouquet 
for my sick mother the day that I left her, and the last 
thing she did was to arrange the flowers, tie them with a 
wisp of faded blue ribbon, and putting them in my hand, 
she desired me to be sure to stop at the cemetery, find her 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


251 


mother’s grave in the Darrington lot, and lay the bunch of 
blossoms for her upon her mother’s monument. Mother’s 
last words were : ‘Don’t forget to kneel down and pray for 
me, at mother’s grave.’ ” 

The voice so clear, so steady hitherto, quivered, ceased; 
and the heavy lashes drooped to hide the tears that gathered ; 
but it was only for a few seconds, and she resumed in the 
same cold, distinct tone: 

“So I went on, and fate tied the last millstone around my 
neck. After some search I found the place, and left the 
bunch of flowers with a few of the chrysanthemums; then 
I hastened toward town, and reached the station too late; 
the 7.15 train had gone. Too late! — only a half hour lost, 
but it carried down everything that this world held for me. 
I used to wonder and puzzle over that passage in the Bible, 
‘The stars in their courses fought against Sisera !’ I have 
solved that mystery, for the ‘stars in their courses’ have 
fought against me; heaven, earth, man, time, circumstances, 
coincidences, all spun the web that snared my innocent feet. 
When I paid for the telegram to relieve my mother’s sus- 
pense, I had not sufficient money (without using the gold) 
to enable me to incur hotel bills; and I asked permission 
to remain in the waiting-room until the next train, which 
was due at 3.05. The room was so close and warm I walked 
out, and the fresh air tempted me to remain. The moon 
was up, full and bright, and knowing no other street, I 
unconsciously followed the one I had taken in the afternoon. 
Very soon I reached the point near the old church where 
the road crosses, and I turned into it, thinking that I would 
enjoy one more breath of the pine forest, which was so new 
to me. It was so oppressively hot I sat down on the pine 
straw, and fanned myself with my hat. How long I re- 
mained there, I know not, for I fell asleep; and when I 
awoke, Mr. Dunbar rode up and asked if I had lost my 
way. I answered that I had not, and as soon as he galloped 
on, I walked back as rapidly as possible, somewhat fright- 
ened at the loneliness of my position. Already clouds were 


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gathering, and I had been in the waiting-room, I think 
about an hour, when the storm broke in its fury. I had 
seen the telegraph operator sitting in his office, but he 
seemed asleep, with his head resting on the table; and 
during the storm I sat on the floor, in one corner of the 
waiting-room, and laid my head on a chair. At last, when 
the tempest ended, I went to sleep. During that sleep, I 
dreamed of my old home in Italy, of some of my dead, of 
my father — of gathering grapes with one I dearly loved — 
and suddenly some noise made me spring to my feet. I 
heard voices talking, and in my feverish dreamy state, there 
seemed a resemblance to one I knew. Only half awake, I 
ran out on the pavement. Whether I dreamed the whole, 
I cannot tell; but the conversation seemed strangely dis- 
tinct; and I can never forget the words, be they real, or 
imaginary : 

“ ‘There ain’t no train till daylight, ’cepting it be the 
through freight.’ 

“Then a different voice asked: ‘When it that due?’ 

“ ‘Pretty soon I reckon, it’s mighty nigh time now, but it 
don’t stop here; it goes on to the water tank, where it 
blows for the bridge.’ 

“ ‘How far is the bridge ?’ 

“ ‘Only a short piece down the track, after you pass the 
tank.’ 

“When I reached the street, I saw no one but the figure 
of an old man, I think a negro, who was walking away. 
He limped and carried a bundle on the end of a stick thrown 
over his shoulder. I was so startled and impressed by the 
fancied sound of a voice once familiar to me, that I walked 
on down the track, but could see no one. Soon the ‘freight’ 
came along; I stood aside until it passed, then returned to 
the station, and found the agent standing in the door. When 
he questioned me about my movements, I deemed him im- 
pertinent; but having nothing to conceal, stated the facts 
I have just recapitulated. You have been told that I inten- 
tionally missed the train; that when seen at lo p.m. in the 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


253 


pine woods, I was stealing back to my mother’s old home; 
that I entered at midnight the bedroom where her father 
slept, stupefied him with chloroform, broke open his vault, 
robbed it of money, jewels and will; and that when Ge I’l 
Darrington awoke and attempted to rescue his property, I 
deliberately killed him. You are asked to believe that I am 
‘the incarnate fiend’ who planned and committed that horrible 
crime, and, alas for me! every circumstance seems like a 
bloodhound to bay me. My handkerchief was found, tainted 
with chloroform. It was my handkerchief; but how it came 
there, on Gen’l Barrington’s bed, only God witnessed. I 
saw among the papers taken from the tin box and laid on 
the table, a large envelope marked in red ink, ‘Last Will 
and Testament of Robert Luke Barrington’; but I never 
saw it afterward. I was never in that room but once; and 
the last and only time I ever saw General Barrington was 
when I passed out of the glass door, and left him standing 
in the middle of the room, with the tin box in his hand. 

“I can call no witnesses; for it is one of the terrible 
fatalities of my situation that I stand alone, with none to 
corroborate my assertions. Strange, inexplicable coinci- 
dences drag me down ; not uhe malice of men, but the 
throttling grasp of circumstances. I am the victim of some 
diabolical fate, which only innocent blood will appease; but 
though I am slaughtered for crimes I did not commit, I 
know, oh! I know, that behind fate, stands God ! — the just 
and eternal God, whom I trust, even in this my hour of 
extremest peril. Alone in the world, orphaned, reviled, 
wrecked for all time, without a ray of hope, I, Beryl Bren- 
tano, deny every accusation brought against me in this cruel 
arraignment; and I call my only witness, the righteous God 
above us, to hear my solemn asseveration: I am innocent 
of this crime; and when you judicially murder me in the 
name of Justice, your hands will be dyed in blood that an 
avenging God will one day require of you. Appearances, 
circumstances, coincidences of time and place, each, all, con- 
spire to hunt me into a convict’s grave; but remember, my 


254 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


twelve judges, remember that a hopeless, forsaken, broken- 
hearted woman, expecting to die at your hands, stood be- 
fore you, and pleaded first and last — Not Guilty ! Not 
Guilty !— ” 

A moment she paused, then raised her arms toward 
heaven and added, with a sudden exultant ring in her 
thrilling voice, and a strange rapt splendor in her uplifted 
eyes : 

“Innocent ! Innocent ! Thou God knowest ! Innocent of 
this sin, as the angels that see Thy face.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

As a glassy summer sea suddenly quivers, heaves, billows 
under the strong steady pressure of a rising gale, so that 
human mass surged and broke in waves of audible emo- 
tion, when Beryl’s voice ceased; for the grace and beauty 
of a sorrowing woman hold a spell more potent than vol- 
umes of forensic eloquence, of juridic casuistry, of rhetorical 
pyrotechnics, and at its touch, the latent floods of pity 
gushed; people sprang to their feet, and somewhere in the 
wide auditory a woman-^sobbed. Habitues of a celebrated 
Salon des Etrangers recall the tradition of a Hungarian 
nobleman who, apparently calm, nonchalant, debonair, gam- 
bled desperately; “while his right hand, resting easily inside 
the breast of his coat, clutched and lacerated his flesh till 
his nails dripped with blood.” With emotions somewhat 
analogous, Mr. Dunbar sat as participant in this judicial 
rouge et noir, where the stakes were a human life, and the 
skeleton hand of death was already outstretched. Listening 
to the calm, mournful voice which alone had power to stir 
and thrill his pulses, he could not endure the pain of watch- 
ing the exquisite face that haunted him day and night; and 
when he computed the chances of her conviction, a mad- 
dening perception of her danger made his brain reel. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


255 


To all of us comes a supreme hour, when realizing the 
adamantine limitations of human power, the “thus far, no 
farther” of relentless physiological, psychological and ethical 
statutes under which humanity lives, moves, has its being 
— our desperate souls break through the meshes of that 
pantheistic idolatry which kneels only to “Natural Laws”; 
and spring as suppliants to Him, who made Law possible. 
We take our portion of happiness and prosperity, and while 
it lasts we wander far, far away in the seductive land of 
philosophical speculation, and revel in the freedom and ir- 
responsibility of Agnosticism ; and lo ! when adversity 
smites, and bankruptcy is upon us, we toss the husks of the 
“Unknowable and Unthinkable” behind us, and flee as the 
Prodigal who knew his father, to that God whom (in 
trouble) we surely know. 

Certainly Lennox Dunbar was as far removed from re- 
ligious tendencies as conformity to the canons of conven- 
tional morality and the habits of an honorable gentleman 
in good society would permit; yet to-day, in the intensity 
of his dread, lest the “consummate flower” of his heart’s 
dearest hope should be laid low in the dust, he involuntarily 
invoked the aid of a long-forgotten God; and through his 
set teeth a prayer struggled up to the throne of that divine 
mercy, which in sunshine we do not see, but which as the 
soul’s eternal lighthouse gleams, glows, beckons in the black- 
est night of human anguish. In boyhood, desiring to please 
his invalid and slowly dying mother, he had purchased and 
hung up opposite her bed, an illuminated copy of her fa- 
vorite text; and now, by some subtle transmutation in the 
conservation of spiritual energy, each golden letter of that 
Bible text seemed emblazoned on the dusty wall of the 
court-room : “God is our refuge and strength, a very present 
help in trouble.” 

When a stern reprimand from the Judge had quelled all 
audible expression of the compassionate sympathy that 
flowed at the prisoner’s story — as the flood at Horeb re- 
sponded to Moses’ touch — there was a brief silence. 


2s6 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


Mr. Dunbar rose, crossed the intervening space and stood 
with his hand on the back of Beryl’s chair; then moved om 
closer to the jury box. 

“May it please your Honor, and Gentlemen of the Jury: 
Sometimes mistakes are crimes, and he who through un- 
pardonable rashness commits them, should not escape ‘un- 
whipped of justice’. When a man in the discharge of that 
which he deemed a duty, becomes aware that unintentionally 
he has perpetrated a great wrong, can he parley with pride, 
or dally, because the haunting ghost of consistency waves 
him back from the path of a humiliating reparation ? Error 
is easy, confession galling; and stepping down from the 
censor’s seat to share the mortification of the pillory, is at 
all times a peculiarly painful reverse; hence, powerful indeed 
must be the conviction which impels a man who prided him- 
self on his legal astuteness, to come boldly into this sacred 
confessional of truth and justice and plead for absolution 
from a stupendous mistake. Two years ago, I became Gen’l 
Barrington’s attorney, and when his tragic death occurred 
in October last, my professional relations, as well as life- 
long friendship, incited me to the prompt apprehension of 
the person who had murdered him. After a careful and 
apparently exhaustive examination of the authenticated 
facts, I was convinced that they pointed only in one direc- 
tion; and in that belief, I demanded and procured the arrest 
of the prisoner. For her imprisonment, her presence here 
to-day, her awful peril, I hold myself responsible; and now, 
gentlemen of the jury, I ask you as men having hearts of 
flesh, and all the honorable instincts of manhood, which 
alone could constitute you worthy umpires in this issue of 
life or death, do you, can you wonder that regret sits at 
my ear, chanting mournful dirges, and remorse like a harpy 
fastens her talons in my soul, when I tell you, that I have 
committed a blunder so frightful, that it borders on a crime 
as heinous as that for which my victim stands arraigned? 
Wise was the spirit of a traditional statute, which decreed 
that the author of a false accusation should pay the penalty 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


257 


designed for the accused; and just indeed would be the 
retribution, that imposed on me the suffering I have entailed 
on her. 

“Acknowledging the error into which undue haste be- 
trayed me, yet confident that divine justice, to whom I have 
sworn allegiance, has recalled me from a false path to one 
that I can now tread with absolute certainty of success, I 
come to-day into this, her sacred temple, lay my hand on 
her inviolate altar, and claiming the approval of her of- 
ficiating high-priest, his Honor, appeal to you, gentlemen of 
the jury, to give me your hearty co-operation in my effort 
to repair a foul wrong, by vindicating innocence. 

“Professors of ophthalmology in a diagnosis of optical 
diseases, tell us of a symptom of infirmity which they call 
pseudoblepsis, or ‘false sight.’ Legal vision exhibits, now 
and then, a corresponding phase of unconscious perversion 
of sight, whereby objects are perceived that do not ex- 
ist, and objects present become transformed, distorted; 
and such an instance of exaggerated metamorphosia is 
presented to-day, in the perverted vision of the prosecution. 
In the incipiency of this case, prior to, and during the pre- 
liminary examination held in October last, I appeared in 
conjunction with Mr. Wolverton, as assistant counsel in the 
prosecution, represented by the Honorable Mr. Churchill, 
District Solicitor; the object of said prosecution being the 
conviction of the prisoner, who was held as guilty of Gen’l 
Darrington’s death. Subsequent reflection and search neces- 
sitated an abandonment of views that could. alone justify 
such a position; and after consultation with my colleagues 
I withdrew; not from the prosecution of the real criminal, 
to the discovery and conviction of whom I shall dedicate 
every energy of my nature, but from the pursuit of one 
most unjustly accused. Anomalous as is my attitude, the 
dictates of conscience, reason, heart, force me into it; and 
because I am the implacable prosecutor of Gen’l Darring- 
ton’s murderer, I come to plead in defence of the prisoner, 
whom I hold guiltless of the crime, innocent of the charge 


258 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


in the indictment. In the supreme hour of her isolation, 
she has invoked only one witness; and may that witness, 
the God above us, the God of justice, the God of innocence, 
grant me the inspiration, and nerve my arm to snatch her 
from peril, and triumphantly vindicate the purity of her 
noble heart and life.” 

Remembering the important evidence which he had fur- 
nished to the prosecution, only a few hours previous, when 
on the witness stand, people looked at one another ques- 
tioningly; doubting the testimony of their own senses; and 
vox populi was not inaptly expressed by the whispered ejacu- 
lation of Bedney to Dyce. 

“Judgment day must be breaking ! Mars Lennox is done 
turned a double summersett, and lit plum over on t’other 
side ! It’s about ekal to a spavinned, ring-boned, hamstrung, 
hobbled horse clearin’ a ten-rail fence! He jumps so beau- 
tiful, I am afeered he won’t stay whar he lit !” 

Comprehending all that this public recantation had cost 
a proud man, jealous of his reputation for professional tact 
and skill, as well as for individual acumen. Beryl began to 
realize the depth and fervor of the love that prompted it; 
and the merciless ordeal to which he would subject her. 
Inflicting upon himself the smarting sting of the keenest 
possible humiliation, could she hope that in the attainment 
of his aim he would spare her? If she threw herself even 
now upon his mercy, would he grant to her that which he 
had denied himself? 

Dreading the consequences of even a moment’s delay, she 
rose, and a hot flush crimsoned her cheeks, as she looked up 
at the Judge. 

“Is it my privilege to decide who shall defend me? Have 
I now the right to accept or reject proffered aid?” 

“The law grants you that privilege ; secures you that 
right.” 

“Then I decline the services of the counsel who offers to 
plead in my defence. I wish no human voice raised in my 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


259 

behalf ; and having made my statement in my own defence, 
I commit my cause to the hands of my God/’ 

For a moment her eyes dwelt upon the lawyer’s, and as 
she resumed her seat, she saw the spark in their blue depths 
leap into a flame. Advancing a few steps, his handsome 
face aglow, his voice rang like a bugle call: 

“May it please your Honor: Anomalous conditions sanc- 
tion, necessitate most anomalous procedure, where the goal 
sought is simple truth and justice; and since the prisoner 
prefers to rest her cause, I come to this bar as Amicus 
Curies, and appeal for permission to plead in behalf of my 
clients, truth and justice, who hold me in perpetual retain- 
ment. In prosecution of the real criminal, in order to un- 
ravel the curiously knitted web, and bring the culprit to 
summary punishment, I ask you, gentlemen of the jury, to 
ponder dispassionately the theory I have now the honor to 
submit to your scrutiny. 

“The prisoner, whom I regard as the victim of my culpa- 
ble haste and deplorably distorted vision, is as innocent of 
Gen’l Barrington’s murder as you or I ; but I charge, that 
while having no complicity in that awful deed, she is never- 
theless perfectly aware of the name of the person who com- 
mitted it. Not particeps criminis, neither consenting to, aid- 
ing, abetting nor even acquainted with the fact of the crime, 
until accused of its perpetration; yet at this moment in pos- 
session of the only clue which will enable justice to seize 
the murderer. Conscious of her innocence, she braves peril 
that would chill the blood of men, and extort almost any 
secret; and shall I tell you the reason? Shall I give you 
the key to an enigma which she knows means death? 

“Gentlemen of the jury, is there any sacrifice so tre- 
mendous, any anguish so keen, any shame so dreadful, any 
fate so overwhelmingly terrible as to transcend the en- 
durance, or crush the power of a woman’s love? Under 
this invincible inspiration, when danger threatens her idol, 
she knows no self; disgrace, death affright her not; she 
extends her arms to arrest every approach, offers her own 


26 o 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


breast as a shield against darts, bullets, sword thrusts, and 
counts it a privilege to lay down life in defence of that 
idol. O ! loyalty supreme, sublime, immortal ! thy name is 
woman’s love. 

“All along the march of humanity, where centuries have 
trailed their dust, traditions gleam like monuments to attest 
the victory of this immemorial potency, female fidelity; and 
when we of the nineteenth century seek the noblest, grandest 
type of merely human self-abnegation, that laid down a pure 
and happy life, to prolong that of a beloved object, we look 
back to the lovely image of that fair Greek woman, who, 
when the parents of the man she loved refused to give their 
lives to save their son, summoned death to accept her as 
a willing victim; and deeming it a privilege, went down 
triumphantly into the grave. Sustained, exalted by this 
most powerful passion that can animate and possess a hu- 
man soul, the prisoner stands a pure, voluntary, self-devoted 
victim; defying the terrors of the law, consenting to con- 
demnation — surrendering to an ignominious death, in order 
to save the life of the man she loves. 

“Grand and beautiful as is the spectacle of her calm 
mournful heroism, I ask you, as men capable of appreciating 
her noble self-immolation, can you permit the consummation 
of this sacrifice? Will you, dare you, selected, appointed, 
dedicated by solemn oaths to administer justice, prove so 
recreant to your holy trust as to aid, abet, become 
accessories to, and responsible for the murder of the pris- 
oner by accepting a stainless victim, to appease that violated 
law which only the blood of the guilty can ever satisfy? 

“In order to avert so foul a blot on the escutcheon of our 
State judiciary, in order to protect innocence from being 
slaughtered, and supremely in order to track and bring to 
summary punishment the criminal who robbed and murdered 
Gen’l Darrington, I now desire, and request, that your 
Honor will permit me to cross-examine the prisoner on the 
statement she has offered in defence.” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


261 

“In making that request, counsel must be aware that it 
is one of the statutory provisions of safety to the accused, 
whom the law holds innocent until proved guilty, that no 
coercion can be employed to extort answers. It is, how- 
ever, the desire of the court, and certainly must accrue to 
the benefit of the prisoner, that she should take the witness 
stand in her own defence.” 

For a moment there was neither sound nor motion. 

“Will the prisoner answer such questions as in the opinion 
of the court are designed solely to establish her innocence? 
If so, she will take the stand.” 

With a sudden passionate movement at variance with her 
demeanor throughout the trial, she threw up her clasped 
hands, gazed at them, then pressed them ring downward as 
a seal upon her lips; and after an instant, answered slowly: 

“Now and henceforth, I decline to answer any and all 
questions. I am innocent, entirely innocent. The burden of 
proof rests upon my accusers.” 

As Mr. Dunbar watched her, noted the scarlet spots burn- 
ing on her cheeks, the strange expression of her eyes that 
glowed with unnatural lustre, a scowl darkened his face; a 
cruel smile curved his lips, and made his teeth gleam. Was 
it worth while to save her against her will; to preserve the 
heart he coveted, for the yile miscreant to whom she had 
irrevocably given it? With an upward movement of his 
noble head, like the impatient toss of a horse intolerant of 
curb, he stepped back close to the girl, and stood with his 
hand on the back of her chair. 

“In view of this palpable evasion of justice through obsti- 
nate non responsion, will it please the Court to overrule the 
prisoner’s objection?” 

Several moments elapsed before Judge Parkman replied, 
and he gnawed the end of his grizzled mustache, debating 
the consequences of dishonoring precedent — that fetich of 
the Bench. 

“The Court cannot so rule. The prisoner has decided 


262 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


upon the line of defence, as is her inalienable right; and 
since she persistently assumes that responsibility, the Court 
must sustain her decision.” 

The expression of infinite and intense relief that stole over 
the girl’s countenance, was noted by both judge and jury, 
as she sank back wearily in her chair, like one lifted from 
some rack of torture. Resting thus, her shoulder pressed 
against the hand that lay on the top of the chair, but he 
did not move a finger; and some magnetic influence drew 
her gaze to meet his. He felt the tremor that crept over 
her, understood the mute appeal, the prayer for forbearance 
that made her mournful gray eyes so eloquent, and a sinister 
smile distorted his handsome mouth. 

“The spirit and intent of the law, the usages of criminal 
practice, above all, hoary precedent, before which we bow, 
each and all sanction your Honor’s ruling; and yet despite 
everything, the end I sought is already attained. Is not the 
refusal of the prisoner proof positive, ‘confirmation strong 
as proofs of Holy Writ’ of the truth of my theory? With 
jealous dread she seeks to lock the clue in her faithful 
heart, courting even the coffin, that would keep it safe 
through all the storms of time. Impregnable in her citadel 
of silence, with the cohorts of Codes to protect her from 
escalade and assault, will the guardians of justice have 
obeyed her solemn commands when they permit the prisoner 
to light the funeral pyre where she elects to throw herself 
— a vicarious sacrifice for another’s sins? For a nature 
so exalted, the Providence who endowed it has decreed a 
nobler fate; and by His help, and that of your twelve con- 
sciences, I purpose to save her from a species of suicide, 
and to consign to the hangman the real criminal. The evi- 
dence now submitted, will be furnished by the testimony of 
witnesses who, at my request, have been kept without the 
hearing of the Court.” 

He left Beryl’s chair, and once more approached the jury, 

“Isam Hornbuckle.” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


263 


A negro man, apparently sixty years old, limped into the 
witness stand, and having been sworn, stood leaning on his 
stick, staring uneasily about him. 

“What is your name?” 

“Isam Clay Hornbuckle.” 

“Where do you live?” 

“Nigh the forks of the road, close to ’Possum Ridge.” 

“How far from town?” 

“By short cuts I make it about ten miles; but the gang 
what works the road, calls it twelve.” 

“Have you a farm there?” 

“Yes’ir. A pretty tolerable farm; a cornfield and potato 
patch and gyarden, and parsture for my horgs and oxin, 
and a slipe of woods for my pine knots.” 

“What is your business?” 

“Tryin’ to make a livin’, and it keeps me bizzy, for Ians 
is poor, and seasons is most ginerally agin crops.” 

“How long have you been farming?” 

“Only sence I got mashed up more ’an a year ago on 
the railroad.” 

“In what capacity did you serve when working on the 
road ?” 

“I was fireman under ingen eer Walker on the lokymotive 
‘Gin’l Borygyard,’ what most ginerally hauled Freight No. 2. 
The ingines goes now by numbers, but we ole hands called 
our’n always ‘Borygyard’.” 

“You were crippled in a collision between two freight 
trains ?” 

“Yes’ir; but t’other train was the cause of the — ” 

“Never mind the cause of the accident. You moved out 
to ’Possum Ridge ; can you remember exactly when you were 
last in town?” 

“To be shore ! I know ezactly, ’cause it was the day my 
ole ’Oman’s step-father’s granny’s funeral sarmont was 
preached; and that was on a Thursday, twenty-sixth of 
October, an’ I come up to ’tend it.” 


264 MERCY OF TIBERIUS 

“Is it not customary to preach the funeral sermons on 
Sunday ?” 

“Most ginerally, Boss, it are; but you see Bre’r Green, 
what was to preach the ole ’oman’s sarmont, had a big 
baptizin’ for two Sundays han’ runnin’, and he was gwine 
to Boston for a spell, on the next cornin’ Saddy, so bein’ 
as our time belonks to us now, we was free to ’pint a week 
day.” 

“You are positive it was the twenty-sixth?” 

“Oh, yes’ir; plum postiv. The day was norated from all 
the baptiss churches, so as the kinfolks could gether from 
fur and nigh.” 

“At what hour on Thursday was the funeral sermon 
preached ?” 

“Four o’clock sharp.” 

“Where did you stay while in town?” 

“With my son Ducaleyon who keeps a barber-shop on 
Main Street.” 

“When did you return home?” 

“I started before day, Friday mornin’, as soon as the rain 
hilt up.” 

“At what hour, do you think?” 

“The town clock was a strikin’ two, jes as I passed the 
express office, at the station.” 

“Now, Isam, tell the Court whom you saw, and what 
happened; and be very careful in all you say, remembering 
you are on your oath.” 

“I was atoting a bundle so — slung on to a stick, and it 
galded my shoulder, ’cause amongst a whole passel of 
plunder I had bought, ther was a bag of shot inside, what 
had slewed ’round oft the balance, and I sot down, close 
to a lamp-post nigh the station, to shift the heft of the shot 
bag. Whilst I were a squatting, tying up my bundle, I 
heered all of a suddent — somebody runnin’, brip — brap — ! 
and up kem a man from round the corner of the station- 
house, a runnin’ full tilt; and he would a run over me, but 
I grabbed my bundle and riz up. Sez I : ‘Hello ! what’s to 


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265 


pay?’ He was most out of breath, but sez he: ‘Is the train 
in yet ?’ Sez I : ‘There ain’t no train till daylight, ’cepting 
it be the through freight.’ Then he axed me: ‘When is 
that due?’ and I tole him: ‘Pretty soon, I reckon, but it 
don’t stop here; it only slows up at the water tank, whar 
it blows for the Bridge.’ Sez he: ‘How fur is that bridge?’ 
Sez I : ‘Only a short piece down the track, after you pass 
the tank.’ He tuck a long breath, and kinder whistled, and 
with that he turned and heeled it down the middle of the 
track. I thought it mighty curus, and my mind misgive me 
thar was somethin’ crooked; but I always pintedly dodges; 
‘lie-lows to ketch meddlers,’ and I went on my way. When 
I got nigh the next corner whar I had to turn to cross the 
river, I looked back and I seen a ’oman standin’ on the 
track, in front of the station-house; but I parsed on, and 
soon kem to the bridge (not the railroad bridge). Boss. I 
had got on the top of the hill to the left of the Pentenchry, 
when I hearn ole ‘Bory’ blow. You see I knowed the 
runnin’ of the kyars, ’cause that through freight was my 
ole stormpin-ground, and I love the sound of that ingine’s 
whistle more ’an I do my gran’childun’s hymn chunes. She 
blov/ed long and vicious like, and I seen her sparks fly, as 
she lit out through town; and then I footed it home.” 

“You think the train was on time?” 

“Bound to be; she never was cotched behind time, not 
while I stuffed her with coal and lightwood knots. She was 
plum punctchul.” 

“Was the lamp lighted where you tied your bundle?” 

“Yes’ir, burnin’ bright.” 

“Tell the Court the appearance of the man whom, you 
talked with.” 

Mr. Dunbar was watching the beautiful face so dear to 
him, and saw the prisoner lean forward, her lips parted, all 
her soul in the wide, glowing eyes fastened on the counte- 
nance of the witness. 

“He was very tall and wiry, and ’peared like a young 
man what had parstured ’mongst wild oats. He seemed cut 


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out for a gintleman, but run to seed too quick and turned 
out nigh kin to a dead beat. One-half of him was hanssum, 
’minded me mightly of that stone head with kurly hair what 
sets over the sody fountin in the drug store, on Main 
Street. Oh, yes’ir, one side was too pretty for a man; but 
t’other ! Fo’ Gawd ! t’other made your teeth ache, and sot 
you cross-eyed to look at it. He toted a awful brand to be 
shore.” 

“What do you mean by one side? Explain yourself care- 
fully now.” 

“I dun’no as I can ’splain, ’cause I ain’t never seed noth- 
ing like it afore. One ’zact half of him, from his hair to his 
shirt collar was white and pretty, like I tell you, but t’other 
side of his face was black as tar, and his kurly hair was 
gone, and the whiskers on that side — and his eye was 
drapped down kinder so, and that side of his mouth sorter 
hung, like it was unpinned, this way. Mebbee he was bom 
so, mebbee not; but he looked like he had jes broke loose 
from the conjur, and caryd his mark.” 

For one fleeting moment, the gates of heaven seemed 
thrown wide, and the glory of the Kingdom of Peace 
streamed down upon the aching heart of the desolate woman. 
She could recognize no dreaded resemblance in the photo- 
graph drawn by the witness; and judge, jury and counsel 
who scrutinized her during the recital of the testimony, were 
puzzled by the smile of joy that suddenly flashed over her 
features, like the radiance of a lamp lifted close to some 
marble face, dim with shadows. 

“Do you think his face indicated that he had been engaged 
in a difficulty, in a fight? Was there any sign of blood, 
or anything that looked as if he had been bruised and 
wounded by some heavy blow?” 

“Naw, sir. Didn’t seem like sech bruises as comes of 
fightin’. ’Feared to me he was somehow branded like, and 
the mark he toted was onnatral.” 


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267 


“If he had wished to disguise himself by blackening one 
side of his face, would he not have presented a similar 
appearance ?” 

“Naw, sir, not by no manner of means. No minstrel 
tricks fotch him to the pass he was at. The hand of the 
Lord must have laid too heavy on him; no mortal wounds 
leave sech terrifyin’ prints.” 

“How was he dressed?” 

‘T)unno. My eyes never drapped below that curus face 
of his’n.” 

“Was he bareheaded?” 

“Bar headed as when he come into the world.” 

“He talked like a man in desperate haste, who was run- 
ning to escape pursuit?” 

“He shorely did.” 

“Did you mention to any person what you have told here 
to-day ?” 

“I tole my ole ’oman, and she said she reckoned it was 
a buth mark what the man carryd; but when I seen him I 
thunk he was cunjured.” 

“When you heard that Gen’l Darrington had been mur- 
dered, did you think of this man and his singular behavior 
that night?” 

“I never hearn of the murder till Christmas, ’cause I 
w^ent down to Elbert County arter a yoke of steers what a 
man owed me, and thar I tuck sick and kep my bed for 
•w’eeks. When I got home, and hearn the talk about the 
murder, I didn’t know it was the same night what I seen 
the branded man.” 

“Tell the Court how your testimony was secured.” 

“It was norated in all our churches that a ’ward was 
offered for a lame cullud pusson of my ’scription, and 
Deacon Nathan he cum down and axed me what mischief 
I’de been a doin’, that I was wanted to answer fur. He 
read me the ’vertisement, and pussuaded me to go with him 
to your office, and you tuck me to Mr. Churchill.” 


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Mr. Dunbar bowed to the District Solicitor, who rose and 
cross-examined. 

“Can you read?” 

“Naw, sir.” 

“Where is your son Deucalion?” 

“Two days after I left town he went with a ‘Love and 
Charity’ scurschion up north, and he liked it so well in 
Baltymore, he staid thar.” 

“When Deacon Nathan brought you up to town, did you 
know for what purpose Mr. Dunbar wanted you?” 

“Naw, sir.” 

“Was it not rather strange that none of your friends 
recognized the description of you, published in the paper?” 

“Seems some of ’em did, but felt kind of jub’rus ’bout 
pinting me out, for human natur is prone to crooked ways, 
and they never hearn I perfessed sanctification.” 

“Who told you the prisoner had heard your conversation 
with the man you met that night?” 

“Did she hear it? Then you are the first pusson to tell 
me. 

“How long was it, after you saw the man, before you 
heard the whistle of the freight train?” 

“As nigh as I kin rickolect about a half a hour, but not 
quite.” 

“Was it raining at all when you saw the woman standing 
on the track?” 

“Naw, sir. The trees was dripping steady, but the moon 
was shining.” 

“Do you know anything about the statement made by the 
prisoner?” 

“Naw, sir.” 

“Fritz Helmetag.” 

As Isam withdrew, a middle-aged man took the stand, and 
in answer to Mr. Dunbar’s questions deposed: “That he 
was ‘bridge tender’ on the railroad, and lived in a cottage 
not far from the water tank. On the night of the twenty- 
sixth of October, he was sitting up with a sick wife, and 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


269 


remembered that being feverish, she asked for some fresh 
water. He went out to draw some from the well, and saw 
a man standing not far from the bridge. The moon was 
behind a row of trees, but he noticed the man was bare- 
headed, and when he called to know what he wanted, he 
walked back toward the tank. Five minutes later the 
freight train blew, and after it had crossed the bridge, he 
went back to his cottage. The man was standing close to 
the safety signal, a white light fastened to an iron stanchion 
at south end of the bridge, and seemed to be reading some- 
thing. Next day, when he (witness) went as usual to ex- 
amine the piers and under portions of the bridge, he had 
found the pipe, now in Mr. Dunbar’s possession. Tramps 
so often rested on the bridge, and on the shelving bank of 
the river beneath it, that he attached no importance to the 
circumstance; but felt confident the pipe was left by the 
man whom he had seen, as it was not there the previous 
afternoon; and he put it in a pigeon-hole of his desk, think- 
ing the owner might return to claim it. On the same day, 

he had left X to carry his wife to her mother, who 

lived in Pennsylvania, and was absent for several weeks. 
Had never associated the pipe with the murder, but after 
talking with Mr. Dunbar, who had found the half of an 
envelope near the south end of the bridge, he had sur- 
rendered it to him. Did not see the man’s face distinctly. 
He looked tall and thin.” 

Here Mr. Dunbar held up a fragment of a long white 
envelope such as usually contain legal documents, on which 
in large letters was written “Last Will” — and underscored 
with red ink. Then he lifted a pipe, for the inspection of 
the witness, who identified it as the one he had found. 

As he turned it slowly, the Court and the multitude saw 
only a meerschaum with a large bowl representing a death’s 
head, to which was attached a short mouth-piece of twisted 
amber. 

The golden gates of hope clashed suddenly, and over 
them flashed a drawn sword, as Beryl looked at the familiar 


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pipe, which her baby fingers had so often strained to grasp. 
How well she knew the ghastly ivory features, the sunken 
eyeless sockets — of that veritable death’s head ? How vividly 
came back the day, when asleep in her father’s arms, a spark 
from that grinning skull had fallen on her cheek, and she 
awoke to find that fond father bending in remorseful tender- 
ness over her? Years ago, she had reverently packed the 
pipe away, with other articles belonging to the dead, and 
ignorant that her mother had given it to Bertie, she deemed 
it safe in that sacred repository. Now, like the face of 
Medusa it glared at her, and that which her father’s lips 
had sanctified, became the polluted medium of a retributive 
curse upon his devoted child. So the Diaholus ex machina, 
the evil genius of each human life decrees that the most 
cruel cureless pangs are inflicted by the instruments we love 
best. 

Watching for some sign of recognition, Mr. Dunbar’s 
heart was fired with jealous rage, as he marked the swift 
change of the prisoner’s countenance; the vanishing of the 
gleam of hope, the gloomy desperation that succeeded. The 
beautiful black brows met in a spasm of pain over eyes that 
stared at an abyss of ruin; her lips whitened, she wrung 
her hands unconsciously; and then, as if numb with horror, 
she leaned back in her chair, and her chin sank until it 
touched the black ribbon at her throat. When after a while 
she rallied, and forced herself to listen, a pleasant-faced 
young man was on the witness stand. 

“My name is Edgar Jennings, and I live at T , in 

Pennsylvania. I am ticket agent at that point, of rail- 

way. One day, about the last of October (I think it was on 
Monday), I was sitting in my office when a man came in, 
and asked if I could sell him a ticket to St. Paul. I told 
him I only had tickets as far as Chicago, via Cincinnati. 
He bought one to Cincinnati and asked how soon he could 
go on. I told him the train from the east was due in a few 
minutes. When he paid for his ticket he gave me a twenty- 
dollar gold piece, and his hand shook so, he dropped another 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


271 


piece of the same value on the floor. His appearance was 
so remarkable I noticed him particularly. He was a man 
about my age, very tall and finely made, but one half of his 
face was black, or rather very dark blue, and he wore a 
handkerchief bandage-fashion across it. His left eye was 
drawn down, this way, and his mouth was one-sided. His 
right eye was black, and his hair was very light brown. 
He wore a close-fitting wool hat, that flapped down and his 
clothes were seal-brown in color, but much worn, I evi- 
dently old. I asked him where he lived, and he said he was 
a stranger going West, on a pioneering tour. Then I asked 
what ailed his face, and he pulled the handkerchief over his 
left eye, and said he was partly paralyzed from an accident. 

Just then, the eastern train blew for T . He said he 

wanted some cigars or a pipe, as he had lost his own on 
the way, and wondered if he would have time to go out 
and buy some. I told him no; but that he could have a 
couple of cigars from my box. He thanked me, and took 
two, laying down a silver dime on top of the box. He put 
his hand in the inside pocket of his coat, and pulled out an 
empty envelope, twisted it, lit it by the coal fire in the 
grate, and lighted his cigar. The train rolled into the sta- 
tion; he passed out, and I saw him jump aboard the front 
passenger coach. He had thrown the paper, as he thought, 
into the fire, but it slipped off the grate, fell just inside the 
fender, and the flame went out. There was something so 
very peculiar in his looks and manner, that I thought there 
was some mystery about his movements. I picked up the 
paper, saw the writing on it, and locked it up in my cash 
drawer. He had evidently been a very handsome man, 
before his ^accident’, but he had a jaded, worried, wretched 
look. When a detective from Baltimore interviewed me, I 
told him all I knew, and gave him the paper.” 

Again Mr. Dunbar drew closer to the jury, held up the 
former fragment of envelope, and then took from his pocket 
a second piece. Jagged edges fitted into each other, and 
he lifted for the inspection of hundreds of eyes, the long 


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envelope marked and underscored: — “Last Will and 
Testament of Robert Luke Darrington.’^ The lower 
edge of the paper was at one corner brown, scorched, some- 
what burned. 

“Lucullus Grantlin.” 

An elderly man of noble presence advanced, and Mr. Dun- 
bar met and shook hands with him, accompanying him 
almost to the stand. At sight of his white head, and flow- 
ing silvery beard. Beryl’s heart almost ceased its pulsation. 
If, during her last illness her mother had acquainted him 
with their family history, then indeed all was lost. It was 
as impossible to reach him and implore his silence, as 
though the ocean rocked between them; and how would 
he interpret the pleading gaze she fixed upon his face ? The 
imminence of the danger, vanquished every scruple, stran- 
gled her pride. She caught Mr. Dunbar’s eye, beckoned 
him to approach. 

When he stood before her, she put out her hand, seized 
one of his, and drew him down until his black head almost 
touched hers. She placed her lips close to his ear, and 
whispered : 

“For God’s sake spare the secrets of a death-bed. Be 
merciful to me now; oh! I entreat you — do not drag my 
mother from her grave! Do not question Doctor Grantlin.” 

She locked her icy hands around his, pressing it con- 
vulsively. Turning, he laid his lips close to the silky fold 
of hair that had fallen across her ear: 

“If I dismiss this witness, will you tell me the truth? 
Will you give me the name of the man whom I am hunt- 
ing? Will you confess all to me?” 

“I have no sins to confess. I have made my last state- 
ment. If you laid my coffin at my feet, I should only say 
I am innocent; I would tell you nothing more.” 

“Then his life is so precious, you are resolved to die, 
rather than trust me?” 


/ 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


m 


She dropped his hand, and leaned back in her chair, 
closing her eyes. When she opened them, Doctor Grantlin 
was speaking: 

“I am on my way to Havana, with an invalid daughter, 
and stopped here last night, at the request of Mr. Dunbar.” 

“Please state all that you know of the prisoner, and of 

the circumstances which induced her to visit X 

first saw the prisoner in August last, when she sum- 
moned me to see her mother, who was suffering from an 
attack of fever. I discovered that she was in a dangerous 
condition in consequence of an aneurism located in the 
carotid artery, and when she had been relieved of malarial 
fever, I told both mother and daughter that an operation was 
necessary, to remove the aneurism. Soon after, I left the 
city for a month, and on my return the daughter again 
called me in. I advised that without delay the patient 
should be removed to the hospital, where a surgeon — a 
specialist — could perform the operation. To this the young 
lady objected, on the ground that she could not assist in 
nursing, if her mother entered the hospital; and she would 
not consent to the separation. She asked what amount 
would be required to secure at home the services of the 
surgeon, a trained nurse, and the subsequent treatment; and 
I told her I thought a hundred dollars would cover all inci- 
dentals, and secure one of the most skilful surgeons in the 
city. I continued from time to time to see the mother, and 
administered such medicines as I deemed necessary to in- 
vigorate and tone up the patient’s system for the operation. 
One day in October, the young lady came to pay me for 
some prescriptions, and asked if a few weeks’ delay v/ould 
enhance the danger of the operation. I assured her it was 
important to lose no time, and urged her to arrange matters 
so as to remove the patient to the hospital as soon as possi- 
ble, offering to procure her admission. She showed great 
distress, and informed me that she hoped to receive very 
soon a considerable sum of money, from some artistic de- 
signs that she felt sure would secure the prize. A week 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


274 

later she came again, and I gave her a prescription to allay 
her mother’s nervousness. Then, with much agitation, she 
told me that she was going South by the night express, to 
seek assistance from her mother’s father, who was a man 
of wealth, but had disowned Mrs. Brentano on account of 
her marriage. She asked for a written statement of the 
patient’s condition, and the absolute necessity of the opera- 
tion. I wrote it, and as she stood looking at the paper, she 
said : 

“ ‘Doctor do you believe in an Ahnungf^ I said, ‘A 
what?’ She answered slowly and solemnly: ‘An Ahnung — a 
presentiment? I have a crushing presentiment that trouble 
will come to me, if I leave mother; and yet she entreats, 
commands me to go South. It is my duty to obey her, but 
the errand is so humiliating I shrink, I dread it. I shall 
not be long away, and meanwhile do please be so kind as to 
see her, and cheer her up. If her father refuses to give 
me the one hundred dollars, I will take her to the hospital 
when I return.’ I walked to the door with her, and her 
last w’ords were: ‘Doctor, I trust my mother to you; don’t 
let her suffer.’ I have never seen her again, until I entered 
this room. I visited Mrs. Brentano several times, but she 
grew worse very rapidly. One night the ensuing week, my 
bell was rung at twelve o’clock, and a woman gave me this 
note, which was written by the prisoner immediately after 
her arrest, and which enclosed a second, addressed to her 
mother.” 

As he read aloud the concluding lines invoking the 
mother’s prayers, the doctor’s voice trembled. He took off 
his spectacles, wiped them, and resumed: 

“I was shocked and distressed beyond expression, for I 
could no more connect the idea of crime with that beautiful, 
noble souled girl, than with my own sinless daughter; and 
I reproached myself then, and doubly condemn myself now, 
that I did not lend her the money. All that was possible 
to alleviate the suffering of that mother, I did most faith- 
fully. Under my personal superintendence she was made 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


275 


comfortable in the hospital; and I stood by her side when 

Doctor operated on the aneurism; but her impaired 

constitution could not bear the strain, and she sank rapidly. 
She was delirious, and never knew why her daughter was 
detained; because I withheld the note. Just before the end 
came, her mind cleared, and she wrote a few lines which 
I sent to the prisoner. From all that I know of Miss Bren- 
tano, I feel constrained to say, she impressed me as one of 
the purest, noblest and most admirable characters I have 
ever met. She supported her mother and herself by her 
pencil, and a more refined, sensitive woman, a more tenderly 
devoted daughter I have yet to meet.” 

“Does your acquaintance with the family suggest any 
third party, who would be interested in Gen’l Darrington’s 
will, or become a beneficiary by its destruction?” 

“No. They seemed very isolated people; those two women 
lived without any acquaintances, as far as I know, and ap- 
peared proudly indifferent to the outside world. I do not 
think they had any relatives, and the only name I heard Mrs. 
Brentano utter in her last illness was, Tgnace, — Ignace.’ 
She often spoke of her ‘darling,’ and her ‘good little girl’.” 

“Did you see a gentleman who visited the prisoner? Did 
you ever hear she had a lover?” 

“I neither saw any gentleman, nor heard she had a lover. 
In January, I received a letter from the prisoner enclosing 

an order on S & E , photographers of New York, 

for the amount due her, on a certain design for a Christmas 
card, which had received the Boston first prize of three 
hundred dollars. With the permission of the Court, I 
should like to read it. There is no objection?” 

“Penitentiary Cell, January 8th. 

“In the name of my dead, whom I shall soon join — I de- 
sire to thank you, dear Doctor Grantlin, for your kind care 
of my darling; and especially for your delicate and tender 
regard for all that remains on earth of my precious mother. 
The knowledge that she was treated with the reverence due 
to a lady, that she was buried — not as a pauper, but sleeps 
her last sleep under the same marble roof that shelters your 


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dear departed ones, is the one ray of comfort that can ever 
pierce the awful gloom that has settled like a pall over me. 
I am to be tried soon for the black and horrible crime I 
never committed; and the evidence is so strong against me, 
the circumstances I cannot explain, are so accusing, the 
belief of my guilt is so general in this community, that I 
have no hope of acquittal ; therefore I make my preparations 
for death. Please collect the money for which I enclose 
an order, and out of it, take the amount you spent when 
mother died. It will comfort me to know, that we do not 
owe a stranger for the casket that shuts her away from all 
grief, into the blessed Land of Peace. Keep the remainder, 
and when you hear that I am dead, unjustly offered up an 
innocent victim to appease justice, that must have somebody’s 
blood in expiation, then take my body and mother’s and have 
us laid side by side in the Potter’s field. The law will crush 
my body, but it is pure and free from every crime, and it 
will be worthy still to touch my mother’s in a common grave. 
Oh, Doctor! Does it not seem that some terrible curse has 
pursued me; and that the three hundred dollars I toiled and 
prayed for, was kept back ten days too late to save me? 
My Christmas card will at least bury us decently — away 
from the world that trampled me down. Do not doubt my 
innocence, and it will comfort me to feel that he who closed 
my mother’s eyes, believes that her unfortunate child is 
guiltless and unstained. In life, and in death, ever 
“Most gratefully your debtor, 

“Beryl Brentano.” 

A few moments of profound silence ensued; then Doctor 
Grantlin handed some article to Mr. Dunbar, and stepping 
down from the stand, walked toward the prisoner. 

She had covered her face with her hands, while he gave 
his testimony ; striving to hide the anguish that his presence 
revived. He placed his hand on her shoulder, and whispered 
brokenly : 

“My child, I know you are innocent. Would to God I 
could help you to prove it to these people !” 

The terrible strain gave way suddenly, her proud head 
was laid against his arm, and suppressed emotion shook 
her, as a December storm smites and bows some shivering 
weed. 


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277 


CHAPTER XIX. 

Friday, the fifth and last day of the trial, was ushered 
in by a tempest of wind and rain, that drove the blinding 
sheets of sleet against the court-house windows with the 
insistence of an icy flail; while now and then with spas- 
modic bursts of fury the gale heightened, rattled the sash, 
moaned hysterically, like invisible fiends tearing at the obsta- 
cles that barred entrance. So dense was the gloom per- 
vading the court-room, that every gas jet was burning at ten 
o’clock, when Mr. Dunbar rose and took a position close to 
the jury-box. The gray pallor of his sternly set face in- 
creased his resemblance to a statue of the Julian type, and 
he looked rigid as granite, as he turned his brilliant eyes 
full of blue fire upon the grave, upturned countenances of 
the twelve umpires: 

“Gentlemen of the Jury: The sanctity of human life is 
the foundation on which society rests, and its preservation 
is the supreme aim of all human legislation. Rights of 
property, of liberty, are merely conditional, subordinated to 
the superlative divine right of life. Labor creates property, 
law secures liberty, but God alone gives life; and woe to 
that tribunal, to those consecrated priests of divine justice, 
who, sworn to lay aside passion and prejudice, and to array 
themselves in the immaculate robes of a juror’s impartiality, 
yet profane the loftiest prerogative with which civilized so- 
ciety can invest mankind, and sacrilegiously extinguish, in 
the name of justice, that sacred spark which only Jehovah’s 
fiat kindles. To the same astute and unchanging race, whose 
relentless code of jurisprudence demanded ‘an eye for an 
eye, a tooth for a tooth, a life for a life,’ we owe the in- 
structive picture of cautious inquiry, of tender solicitude for 
the inviolability of human life, that glows in immortal lustre 
on the pages of the 'Mechilta' of the Talmud. In the trial 
of a Hebrew criminal, there were 'Lactees/ consisting of 


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two men, one of whom stood at the door of the court, with 
a red flag in his hand, and the other sat on a white horse 
at some distance on the road that led to execution. Each 
of these men cried aloud continually, the name of the sus- 
pected criminal, of the witnesses, and his crime; and vehe- 
mently called upon any person who knew anything in his 
favor to come forward and testify. Have we, supercilious 
braggarts of this age of progress, attained the prudential 
wisdom of Sanhedrim? 

“The State pays an officer to sift, probe, collect and array 
the evidences of crime, with which the criminal is stoned to 
death ; does it likewise commission and compensate an equally 
painstaking, lynx-eyed official whose sole duty is to hunt and 
proclaim proofs of the innocence of the accused? The great 
body of the commonwealth is committed in revengeful zeal 
to prosecution; upon whom devolves the doubly sacred and 
imperative duty of defence? Are you not here to give judg- 
ment in a cause based on an indictment by a secret tribunal, 
where ex parte testimony was alone received, and the voice 
of defence could not be heard? The law infers that the 
keen instinct of self-preservation will force the accused to 
secure the strongest possible legal defenders; and failing in 
this, the law perfunctorily assigns counsel to present testi- 
mony in defence. Do the scales balance? 

“Imagine a race for heavy stakes; the judges tap the 
bell; three or four superb thoroughbreds carefully trained on 
that track, laboriously groomed, waiting for the signal, 
spring forward; and when the first quarter is reached, a 
belated fifth, handicapped with the knowledge that he has 
made a desperately bad start, bounds after them. If by dint 
of some superhuman grace vouchsafed, some latent strain, 
some most unexpected speed, he nears, overtakes, runs neck 
and neck, slowly gains, passes all four and dashes breath- 
less and quivering under the string, a whole length ahead, 
the world of spectators shouts, the judges smile, and num- 
ber five wins the stakes. But was the race fair? 


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279 


*‘Is not justice, the beloved goddess of our idolatry, some- 
times so blinded by clouds of argument, and confused by 
clamor that she fails indeed to see the dip of the beam? 
If the accused be guilty and escape conviction, he still lives; 
and while it is provided that no one can be twice put in 
jeopardy of his life for the same offence, vicious tendencies 
impel to renewal of crime, and Nemesis, the retriever of 
justice, may yet hunt him down. If the accused be innocent 
as the archangels, but suffer conviction and execution, what 
expiation can justice offer for judicially slaughtering him? 
Are the chances even? 

“All along the dim vista of the annals of criminal juris- 
prudence, stand grim memorials that mark the substitution of 
innocent victims for guilty criminals; and they are solemn 
sign-posts of warning, melancholy as the whitening bones 
of perished caravans in desert sands. History relates, and 
tradition embalms, a sad incident of the era of the Council 
of Ten, when an innocent boy was seized, tried and exe- 
cuted for the murder of a nobleman, whose real assassin 
confessed the crime many years subsequent. In commemora- 
tion of the public horror manifested, when the truth was 
V published, Venice decreed that henceforth a crier should 
proclaim in the Tribunal just before a death sentence was 
pronounced, ‘Ricordatevi del povero MarcoHni! remember 
the poor Marcolini;’ beware of merely circumstantial evi- 
dence. 

“To another instance I invite your attention. A devoted 
Scotch father finding that his own child had contracted an 
unfortunate attachment to a man of notoriously bad char- 
acter, interdicted all communication, and locked his daugh- 
ter into a tenement room; the adjoining apartment (with 
only a thin partition wall between) being occupied by a 
neighbor, who overheard the angry altercation that ensued. 
He recognized the voices of father and daughter, and the 
words ‘barbarity,’ ‘cruelty,’ ‘death,’ were repeatedly heard. 
The father at last left the room, locking his child in as 
a prisoner. After a time, strange noises were heard by the 


28 o 


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tenant of the adjoining chamber; suspicion was aroused, 
a bailiff was summoned, the door forced open, and there lay 
the dying girl weltering in blood, with the fatal knife lying 
near. She was asked if her father had caused her sad 
condition, and she made an affirmative gesture and expired. 
At that moment the father returned, and stood stupefied 
with horror, which was interpreted as a consciousness of 
guilt; and this was corroborated by the fact that his shirt 
sleeve was sprinkled with blood. In vain he asserted his 
innocence, and showed that the blood stains were the result 
of a bandage having become untied where he had bled him- 
self a few days before. The words and groans overheard, 
the blood, the affirmation of the dying woman, every damning 
circumstance constrained the jury to convict him of the 
murder. He was hung in chains, and his body left swing- 
ing from the gibbet. The new tenant, who subsequently 
rented the room, was ransacking the chamber in which the 
girl died, when, in a cavity of the chimney where it had 
fallen unnoticed, was found a paper wTitten by this girl, 
declaring her intention to commit suicide, and closing with 
the words: ‘My inhuman father is the cause of my death’; 
thus explaining her dying gestures. On examination of this 
document by the friends and relatives of the girl, it was 
recognized and identified as her handwriting; and it estab- 
lished the fact that the father had died innocent of every 
crime, except that of trying to save his child from a de- 
grading marriage. 

“Now, mark the prompt and satisfactory reparation, de- 
creed by justice, and carried out by the officers of the law. 
The shrivelled, dishonored body was lowered from the gib- 
bet, given to his relatives for decent burial, and the magis- 
trates who sentenced him, ordered a flag waved over his 
grave, as compensation for all his wrongs. 

“Gentlemen of the jury, to save you from the commission 
of a wrong even more cruel, I come to-day to set before you 
clearly the facts, elicited from witnesses which the honora- 
ble and able counsel for the prosecution declined to cross- 


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281 

examine. An able expounder of the law of evidence has 
warned us that : ‘The force of circumstantial evidence being 
exclusive in its nature, and the mere coincidence of the 
hypothesis with the circumstances, being, in the abstract, 
insufficient, unless they exclude every other supposition, it is 
essential to inquire, with the most scrupulous attention, what 
other hypothesis there may he, agreeing wholly or partially 
with the facts in evidence.’ 

“A man of very marked appearance was seen running to- 
ward the railroad, on the night of the twenty-sixth, evi- 
dently goaded by some unusual necessity to leave the 

neighborhood of X before the arrival of the passenger 

express. It is proved that he passed the station exactly at 
the time the prisoner deposed she heard the voice, and the 
half of the envelope that enclosed the missing will, was 
found at the spot where the same person was seen, only 
a few moments later. Four days afterward, this man en- 
tered a small station in Pennsylvania, paid for a railroad 
ticket, with a coin identical in value and appearance with 
those stolen from the tin box, and as if foreordained to 
publish the steps he was striving to efface, accidentally left 
behind him the trumpet-tongued fragment of envelope, that 
exactly fitted into the torn strip dropped at the bridge. The 
most exhaustive and diligent search shows that stranger was 

seen by no one else in X ; that he came as a thief in 

the night, provided with chloroform to drug his intended 
victim, and having been detected in the act of burglariously 
abstracting the contents of the tin box, fought with, and 
killed the venerable old man, whom he had robbed. 

“Under cover of storm and darkness he escaped with his 

plunder, to some point north of X where doubtless he 

boarded (unperceived) the freight train, and at some con- 
venient point slipped into a wooded country, and made his 
way to Pennsylvania. Why were valuable bonds un- 
touched? Because they might aid in betraying him. What 
conceivable interest had he in the destruction of Gen’l Bar- 
rington’s will ? It is in evidence, that the lamp was burning, 


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and the contents of that envelope could have possessed no 
value for a man ignorant of the provisions of the v/ill; and 
the superscription it was impossible to misread. Suppose 
that this mysterious person was fully cognizant of the family 
secrets of the Barringtons ? Suppose that he knew that Mrs. 
Brentano and her daughter would inherit a large fortune, 
if Gen’l Barrington died intestate? If he had wooed and 
won the heart of the daughter, and believed that her rights 
had been sacrificed to promote the aggrandizement of an 
alien, the adopted step-son Prince, had not such a man, the 
accepted lover of the daughter, a personal interest in the 
provisions of a will which disinherited Mrs. Brentano, and 
her child? Have you not now, motive, means, and oppor- 
tunity, and links of evidence that point to this man as the 
real agent, the guilty author of the awful crime we are all 
leagued in solemn, legal covenant to punish? Suppose that 
fully aware of the prisoner’s mission to X , he had se- 

cretly followed her, and supplemented her afternoon visit, 
by the fatal interview of the night? Boubtless he had in- 
tended escorting her home, but when the frightful tragedy 
was completed, the curse of Cain drove him, in terror, to 
instant flight ; and he sought safety in western wilds, leaving 
his innocent and hapless betrothed to bear the penalty of 
his crime. The handkerchief used to administer chloroform, 
bore her initials; w^as doubtless a souvenir given in days 
gone by to that unworthy miscreant, as a token of affection, 
by the trusting woman he deserted in the hour of peril. In 
this solution of an awful enigma, is there an undue strain 
upon credulity; is there any antagonism of facts, which the 
torn envelope, the pipe, the twenty-dollar gold pieces in 
Pennsylvania, do not reconcile? 

“A justly celebrated writer on the law of evidence has 
wisely said: ‘In criminal cases, the statement made by the 
accused is of essential importance in some points of view. 
Such is the complexity of human affairs, and so infinite the 
combinations of circumstances, that the true hypothesis which 
is capable of explaining and reuniting all the apparently con- 


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283 


flicting circumstances of the case, may escape the acutest 
penetration : but the prisoner, so far as he alone is concerned, 
can always afford a clue to them; and though he may be 
unable to support his statement by evidence, his account of 
the transaction is, for this purpose, always most material 
and important. The effect may be to suggest a view, which 
consists with the innocence of the accused, and might other- 
wise have escaped observation.’ 

“During the preliminary examination of this prisoner in 
October, she inadvertently furnished this clue, when, in 
explaining her absence from the station house, she stated 
that suddenly awakened from sleep, "she heard the voice of 
one she knew and loved, and ran out to seek the speaker’. 
Twice she has repeated the conversation she heard, and 
every word is corroborated by the witness who saw and 
talked with the owner of that ‘beloved voice’. When asked 
to give the name of that man, whom she expected to find in 
the street, she falters, refuses; love seals her lips, and the 
fact that she will die sooner than yield that which must 
bring him to summary justice, is alone sufficient to fix the 
guilt upon the real culprit. 

“There is a rule in criminal jurisprudence, that ‘pre- 
sumptive evidence ought never to be relied on, when 
direct testimony is wilfully withheld’. She shudders at sight 
of the handkerchief; did she not give it to him, in some 
happy hour as a tender Ricordo? When the pipe which he 
lost in his precipitate flight is held up to the jury, she recog- 
nizes it instantly as her lover’s property, and shivers with 
horror at the danger of his detection and apprehension. 
Does not this array of accusing circumstances demand as 
careful consideration, as the chain held up to your scrutiny 
by the prosecution? In the latter, there is an important link 
missing, which the theory of the defence supplies. Wlien 
the prisoner was arrested and searched, there was found in 
her possession only the exact amount of money, which it is 
in evidence, that she came South to obtain ; and which she 
has solemnly affirmed was given to her by Gen’l Darrington. 


284 


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We know from memoranda found in the rifled box, that it 
contained only a few days previous, five hundred dollars in 
gold. Three twenty-dollar gold coins were discovered on 
the carpet, and one in the vault; what became of the remain- 
ing three hundred and twenty dollars? With the exception 
of one hundred dollars found in the basket of the prisoner, 
she had only five copper pennies in her purse, when so un- 
expectedly arrested, that it was impossible she could have 
secreted anything. Three hundred and twenty dollars dis- 
appeared in company with the will, and like the torn en- 
velope, two of those gold coins lifted their accusing faces 
in Pennsylvania, where the fugitive from righteous retribu- 
tion paid for the wings that would transport him beyond 
risk of detection. 

“Both theories presented for your careful analysis, are 
based entirely upon circumstantial evidence; and is not the 
solution I offer less repugnant to the canons of credibility, 
and infinitely less revolting to every instinct of honor- 
able manhood, than the horrible hypothesis that a refined, cul- 
tivated, noble Christian woman, a devoted daughter, irre- 
proachable in antecedent life, bearing the fiery ordeal of the 
past four months with a noble heroism that commands the 
involuntary admiration of all who have watched her — that 
such a perfect type of beautiful womanhood as the prisoner 
presents, could deliberately plan and execute the vile scheme 
of theft and murder? Gentlemen, she is guilty of but one 
sin against the peace and order of this community: the sin 
of withholding the name of one for whose bloody crime 
she is not responsible. Does not her invincible loyalty, her 
unwavering devotion to the craven for whom she suffers, in- 
vest her with the halo of a martyrdom, that appeals most 
powerfully to the noblest impulses of your nature, that en- 
lists the warmest, holiest sympathies lying deep in your man- 
ly hearts? Analyze her statement*; every utterance bears 
the stamp of innocence; and where she cannot explain 
truthfully, she declines to make any explanation. Hers is 
the sin of silence, the grievous evasion of justice by non- 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


285 


responsion, whereby the danger she will not avert by con- 
fession recoils upon her innocent head. Bravely she took 
on her reluctant shoulders the galling burden of parental 
command, and stifling her proud repugnance, obediently came 
— a fair young stranger to ‘Elm Bluff.’ Receiving as a 
loan the money she came to beg for, she hurries away to 
fulfil another solemnly imposed injunction. 

“Gentlemen, is there any spot out yonder in God’s Acre, 
where violets, blue as the eyes that once smiled upon you, 
now shed their fragrance above the sacred dust of your dead 
darlings; and the thought of which melts your hearts and 
dims your vision? Look at this mournful, touching wit- 
ness, which comes from that holy cemetery to whisper to 
your souls, that the hands of the prisoner are as pure as 
those of your idols, folded under the sod. Only a little 
bunch of withered brown flowers, tied with a faded blue 
ribbon, that a poor girl bought with her hard earned pen- 
nies, and carried to a sick mother, to brighten a dreary at- 
tic ; only a dead nosegay, which that mother requested should 
be laid as a penitential tribute on the tomb of the mother 
whom she had disobeyed; and this faithful young heart 
made the pilgrimage, and left the offering — and in conse- 
quence thereof, missed the train that would have carried her 
safely back to her mother — and to peace. On the morn- 
ing after the preliminary examination I went to the ceme- 
tery, and found the fatal flowers just where she had placed 
them, on the great marble cross that covers the tomb of 
‘Helena Tracey — wife of Luke Barrington.’ 

“You husbands and fathers who trust your names, your 
honor, the peace of your hearts — almost the salvation of 
your souls — to the women you love; staking the dearest 
interest of humanity, the sanctity of that heaven on earth— 
your stainless homes — upon the fidelity of womanhood, can 
you doubt for one instant, that the prisoner will accept 
death rather than betray the man she loves? No human 
plummet has sounded the depths of a woman’s devotion; no 
surveyor’s chain will ever mark the limits of a woman’s 


286 


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faithful, patient endurance; and only the wings of an arch- 
angel can transcend that pinnacle to which the sublime 
principle of self-sacrifice exalts a woman’s soul. 

“In a quaint old city on the banks of the Pegnitz, his- 
tory records an instance of feminine self-abnegation, more 
enduring than monuments of brass. The law had decreed 
a certain provision for the maintenance of orphans; and 
two women in dire distress, seeing no possible avenue of 
help, accused themselves falsely of a capital crime, and 
were executed ; thereby securing a support for the chil- 
dren they orphaned. 

“As a tireless and vigilant prosecutor of the real crim- 
inal, the Cain-branded man now wandering in some west- 
ern wild, I charge the prisoner with only one sin, suicidal 
silence; and I commend her to your most tender compas- 
sion, believing that in every detail and minutiae she has 
spoken the truth; and that she is as innocent of the charge 
in the indictment as you or I. Remember that you have 
only presumptive proof to guide you in this solemn delib- 
eration, and in the absence of direct proof, do not be de- 
luded by a glittering sophistry, which will soon attempt to 
persuade you, that: ‘A presumption which necessarily arises 
from circumstances, is very often more convincing and 
more satisfactory than any other kind of evidence; it is 
not within the reach and compass of human abilities to in- 
vent a train of circumstances, which shall be so connected 
together as to amount to a proof of guilt, without afford- 
ing opportunities of contradicting a great part, if not all, of 
these circumstances.’ 

“Believe it not; circumstantial evidence has caused as 
much innocent blood to flow, as the cimeter of Jenghiz Khan. 
The counsel for the prosecution will tell you that every 
fact in this melancholy case stabs the prisoner, and that facts 
cannot lie. Abstractly and logically considered, facts cer- 
tainly do not lie; but let us see whether the inferences de- 
duced from what we believe to be facts, do not sometimes 
eclipse Ananias and Sapphira ! Not long ago, the public 


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287 


heart thrilled with horror at the tidings of the Ashtabula 
railway catastrophe, in which a train of cars plunged 
through a bridge, took fire, and a number of passengers 
were consumed, charred beyond recognition. Soon after- 
ward, a poor woman, mother of two children, commenced 
suit against the railway company, alleging that her husband 
had perished in that disaster. The evidence adduced was 
only of a circumstantial nature, as the body which had 
been destroyed by flames, could not be found. Searching 
in the debris at the fatal spot, she had found a bunch of 
keys, that she positively recognized as belonging to her hus- 
band, and in his possession when he died. One key fitted 
the clock in her house, and a mechanic was ready to swear 
that he had made such a key for the deceased. Another 
key fitted a chest she owned, and still another fitted the 
door of her house; while strongest of all proof, she found 
a piece of cloth which she identified as part of her hus- 
band’s coat. A physician who knew her husband, testified 
that he rode as far as Buffalo on the same train with the 
deceased, on the fatal day of the disaster; and another wit- 
ness deposed that he saw the deceased take the train at 
Buffalo, that went down to ruin at Ashtabula. Certainly 
the chain of circumstantial evidence, from veracious facts, 
seemed complete ; but lo ! during the investigation it was 
ascertained beyond doubt, to the great joy of the wife, that 
the husband had never been near Ashtabula, and was safe 
and v/ell at a Pension Home in a Western State. 

“The fate of a very noble and innocent woman is now 
committed to your hands, and only presumptive proof is 
laid before you. ‘The circumstance is always a fact; the 
presumption is the inference drawn from that fact. It is 
hence called presumptive proof, because it proceeds merely 
in opinion.’ Suffer no brilliant sophistry to dazzle your 
judgment, no remnant of prejudice to swerve you from the 
path of fidelity to your oath. To your calm reasoning, your 
generous manly hearts, your Christian consciences, I resign 
the desolate prisoner; and as you deal with her, so may 


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the God above us, the just and holy God who has numbered 
the hairs of her innocent head, deal here and hereafter with 
you and yours.” 

That magnetic influence, whereby the emotions of an 
audience are swayed, as the tides that follow the moon, was 
in large measure the heritage of the handsome man who 
held the eyes of the jurymen in an almost unwinking gaze; 
and when his uplifted arm slowly fell to his side. Judge 
Dent grasped it in mute congratulation, and Mr. Churchill 
took his hand, and shook it warmly. 

Mr. Wolverton came forward to sum up the evidence for 
the prosecution, and laboriously recapitulated and dwelt upon 
the mass of facts which he claimed was susceptible of but 
one interpretation, and must compel the jury to convict, 
in accordance with the indictment. 

Upon the ears of the prisoner, his words fell as a harsh, 
meaningless murmur; and above the insistent mutter, rose 
and fell the waves of a rich, resonant voice, that surrounded, 
penetrated, electrified her brain; thrilled her whole being 
with a strange and inexplicable sensation of happiness. For 
months she had fought against the singular fascination that 
dwelt in those brilliant blue eyes, and lurked in every line 
of the swart, stern face; holding at bay the magnetic at7 
traction which he exerted from the hour of the preliminary 
examination. Of all men, she had feared him most, had 
shrunk from every opportunity of contact, had execrated him 
as the malign personification, the veritable incarnation of the 
evil destiny that had hounded her from the day she first 
saw X . 

Listening to his appeal for her deliverance, each word 
throbbing with the fervent beat of a heart that she knew 
was all her own, an exquisite sense of rest gradually stole 
over her; as a long-suffering child spent with pain, sinks, 
soothed at last in the enfolding arms of protective love. 
That dark, eloquent face drew, held her gaze with the spell 
of a loadstone, and even in the imminence of her jeopardy, 
she recalled the strange resemblance he bore to the mili- 


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289 


tant angel she had once seen in a painting, where he wres- 
tled with Satan for possession of the body of Moses. Dis- 
grace, peril, the gaunt spectre of death suddenly dissolved, 
vanished in the glorious burst of rosy light that streamed 
into all the chill chambers of her heart; and she bowed 
her head in her hands, to hide the crimson that painted her 
cheeks. 

How long Mr. Wolverton talked, she never knew; but 
the lull that succeeded was broken by the tones of Judge 
Parkman. 

“Beryl Brentano, it is my duty to remind you that this 
is the last opportunity the law allows you, to speak in your 
own vindication. The testimony has all been presented to 
those appointed to decide upon its value. If there be any 
final statement that you may desire to offer in self-defence, 
you must make it now.” 

Could the hundreds who watched and waited ever forget 
the sight of that superb, erect figure, that exquisite face, 
proud as Hypatia’s, patient as Perpetua’s; or the sound of 
that pathetic, unwavering voice? Mournfully, yet steadily, 
she raised her great grey eyes, darkened by the violet 
shadows suffering had cast, and looked at her judges. 

“I am guiltless of any and all crime. I have neither 
robbed, nor murdered; and I am neither principal, nor 
accomplice in the horrible sin imputed to me. I know 
nothing of the chloroform ; I never touched the andiron ; I 
never saw Gen’l Barrington but once. He gave me the 
gold and the sapphires, and I am as innocent of his death, 
and of the destruction of his will as the sinless little chil- 
dren who prattle at your firesides, and nestle to sleep in 
your arms. My life has been disgraced and ruined by no 
act of mine, for I have kept my hands, my heart, my soul, 
as pure and free from crime as they were when God gave 
them to me. I am the helpless prey of suspicion, and the 
guiltless victim of the law. O, my judges ! I do not crave 
your mercy — that is the despairing prayer of conscious guilt 
I demand at your hands, justice.” 


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AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


The rushing sound as of a coming flood filled her ears, 
and her words echoed vaguely from some immeasurably 
distant height. The gaslights seemed whirling in a Wal- 
purgis maze, as she sat down and once more veiled her 
face in her hands. 

When she recovered sufficiently to listen, Mr. Churchill 
had risen for the closing speech of the prosecution. 

“Gentlemen of the Jury: I were a blot upon a noble 
profession, a disgrace to honorable manhood, and a mon- 
ster in my own estimation, if I could approach th© fatal 
Finis of this melancholy trial, without painful emotions of 
profound regret, that the solemn responsibility of my offi- 
cial position makes me the reluctant bearer of the last 
stern message uttered by retributive justice. How infinitely 
more enviable the duty of the Amicus Curice, my gallant 
friend and quondam colleague, who in voluntary defence has 
so ingeniously, eloquently and nobly led a forlorn hope, 
that he knew was already irretrievably lost? Desperate, 
indeed, must he deem that cause for which he battles so 
valiantly, when dire extremity goads him to lift a rebellious 
and unfilial voice against the provisions of his foster-mother. 
Criminal Jurisprudence, in whose service he won the bril- 
liant distinction and crown of laurel that excite the ad- 
miration and envy of a large family of his less fortunate 
foster-brothers. I honor his heroism, applaud his chivalrous 
zeal, and wish that I stood in his place; but not mine the 
privilege of mounting the white horse, and waving the red 
flag of the 'Lactees.’ Dedicated to the mournful rites of 
justice, I have laid an iron hand on the quivering lips of 
pity, that cried to me like the voice of one of my own lit- 
tle ones; and very sorrowfully, at the command of con- 
science, reason and my official duty, I obey the mandate to 
ring down the black curtain on a terrible tragedy, feeling 
like Dante, when he confronted the doomed — 

“ ‘And to a part I come, where no light shines.’ 

So clearly and ably has my distinguished associate, Mr. 
Wolverton, presented all the legal points bearing upon the 


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291 


nature and value of the proof, submitted for your examina- 
tion, that any attempt to buttress his powerful argument, 
were an unpardonable reflection upon your intelligence, and 
his skill; and I shall confine my last effort in behalf of jus- 
tice, to a brief analysis and comparison of the hypothesis of 
the defence, with the verified result of the prosecution. 

“Beautiful and sparkling as the frail glass of Murano, 
and equally as thin, as treacherously brittle, is the theory 
so skilfully manufactured in behalf of the accused; and so 
adroitly exhibited that the ingenious facets catch every pos- 
sible gleam, and for a moment almost dazzle the eyes of 
the beholder. In attempting to cast a lance against the 
shield of circumstantial evidence, his weapon rebounded, 
recoiled upon his fine spun crystal and shivered it. What 
were the materials wherewith he worked? Circumstances, 
strained, well nigh dislocated by the effort to force them to 
fit into his Procrustean measure. A man was seen on the 
night of the twenty-sixth, who appeared unduly anxious to 
quit X before daylight; and again the mysterious stran- 

ger was seen in a distant town in Pennsylvania, where he 
showed some gold coins of a certain denomination, and 
dropped on the floor one-half of an envelope, that once 
contained a will. In view of these circumstances (the prose- 
cution calls them facts), the counsel for the. defence prt- 
sumes that said stranger committed the murder, stole the 
will; and offers this opinion as presumptive proof that the 
prisoner is innocent. The argument runs thus : this man was 
an accepted lover of the accused, and therefore he must 
have destroyed the will that beggared his betrothed; but it 
is nowhere in evidence, that any lover existed, outside of 
the counsel’s imagination; yet Asmodeus like he must ap- 
pear when called for, and so we are expected to infer, as- 
sume, presume that because he stole the will he must be 
her lover. Does it not make your head swim to spin round 
in this circle of reasoning? In assailing the validity of 
circumstantial evidence, has he not cut his bridges, burned 
kis ships behind him? 


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AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


“Gentlemen, fain would I seize this theory were it cred- 
ible, and setting thereon, as in an ark, this most unfortunate 
prisoner, float her safely through the deluge of ruin, an- 
chor her in peaceful security upon some far-off Ararat; but 
it has gone to pieces in the hands of its architect. Instead 
of rescuing the drowning, the wreck serves only to beat her 
down. If we accept the hypothesis of a lover at all, it will 
furnish the one missing link in the terrible chain that clanks 
around the luckless prisoner. The disappearance of the 
three hundred and twenty dollars has sorely perplexed the 
prosecution, and unexpectedly the defence offers us the one 
circumstance we lacked ; the lover was lurking in the neigh- 
borhood, to learn the result of the visit, to escort her home ; 
and to him the prisoner gave the missing gold, to him in- 
trusted the destruction of the will. If that man came to 
*Elm Bluff’ prepared to rob and murder, by whom was he 
incited and instigated ; and who was the accessory, and there- 
fore particeps criminisf The prisoner’s handkerchief was 
the medium of chloroforming that venerable old man, and 
can there be a reasonable doubt that she aided in admin- 
istering it ? 

“The prosecution could not explain why she came from 
the direction of the railroad bridge, which was far out of 
her way from ‘Elm Bluff’; but the defence gives the most 
satisfactory solution: she was there, dividing her blood- 
stained spoils with the equally guilty accomplice — her lover. 
The prosecution brings to the bar of retribution only one 
criminal; the defence not only fastens the guilt upon this 
unhappy woman, by supplying the missing links, but proves 
premeditation, by the person of an accomplice. Four 
months have been spent in hunting some fact that would 
tend to exculpate the accused, but each circumstance dragged 
to light serves only to swell the dismal chorus, ‘Woe to the 
guilty’. To-day she sits in the ashes of desolation, con- 
demned by the unanimous evidence of every known fact 
connected with this awful tragedy. To oppose this black 
and frightful host of proofs, what does she offer us? Sim- 


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293 


ply her bare, solemnly reiterated denial of guilt. We hold 
our breath, hoping against hope that she will give some ex- 
planation, some solution, that our pitying hearts are wait- 
ing so eagerly to hear; but dumb as the Sphinx, she awaits 
her doom. You will weigh that bare denial in the scale 
with the evidence, and in this momentous duty recollect the 
cautious admonition that has been furnished to guide you: 
‘Conceding that asseverations of innocence are always de- 
serving of consideration by the executive, what is there to 
invest them with a conclusive efficacy, in opposition to a 
chain of presumptive evidence, the force and weight of 
which falls short only of mathematical demonstration ?’ 
The astute and eloquent counsel for defence, has cited some 
well-known cases, to shake your faith in the value of merely 
presumptive proof. 

“I offer for your consideration, an instance of the falli- 
bility of merely bare, unsupported denial of guilt on the 
part of the accused. A priest at Lauterbach was sus- 
pected, arrested and tried for the murder of a woman, un- 
der very aggravated circumstances. He was subjected to 
eighty examinations ; and each time solemnly denied the 
crime. Even when confronted at midnight with the skull 
of the victim murdered eight years before, he vehemently 
protested his innocence; called on the skull to declare him 
not the assassin, and appealed to the Holy Trinity to pro- 
claim his innocence. Finally he confessed his crime; testi- 
fied that while cutting the throat of his victim, he had ex- 
horted her to repentance, had given her absolution, and 
that having concealed the corpse, he had said masses for 
her soul. 

“The forlorn and hopeless condition of the prisoner at 
this bar, appeals pathetically to that compassion which we 
are taught to believe coexists with justice, even in the om- 
nipotent God we worship; yet in the face of incontrovertible 
facts elicited from reliable witnesses, of coincidences which 
no theory of accident can explain, can we stifle convictions, 
solely because she pleads ‘not guilty’? Pertinent, indeed, 


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was the ringing cry of that ancient prosecutor: ‘Most illus- 
trious Caesar ! if denial of guilt be sufficient defence, who 
would ever be convicted?’ You have been assured that in- 
ferences drawn from probable facts eclipse the stupendous 
falsehood of Ananias and Sapphira ! Then the same fam- 
ily strain inevitably crops out, in the loosely-woven web 
of defensive presumptive evidence — whose pedigree we trace 
to the same parentage. God forbid that I should commit 
the sacrilege of arrogating His divine attribute — infallibil- 
ity — for any human authority, however exalted; or claim 
it for any amount of proof, presumptive or positive. ‘It 
is because humanity even when most cautious and discrim- 
inating is so mournfully fallible and prone to error, that in 
judging its own frailty, we require the aid and reverently 
invoke the guidance of Jehovah.’ In your solemn delibera- 
tions bear in mind this epitome of an opinion, entitled to 
more than a passing consideration : ‘Perhaps strong cir- 
cumstantial evidence in cases of crime, committed for the 
most part in secret, is the most satisfactory of any from 
whence to draw the conclusion of guilt; for men may be se- 
duced to perjury, by many base motives; but it can scarcely 
happen that many circumstances, especially if they be such 
over which the accuser could have no control, forming al- 
together the links of a transaction, should all unfortunately 
concur to fix the presumption of guilt on an individual, and 
yet such a conclusion be erroneous.’ 

“Gentlemen of the jury: the prosecution believes that 
the overwhelming mass of evidence laid before you proves, 
beyond a reasonable doubt, that the prisoner did premedi- 
tatedly murder and rob Robert Luke Barrington; and in 
the name of justice, we demand that you vindicate the ma- 
jesty of outraged law, by rendering a verdict of ‘guilty’. 
All the evidence in this case points the finger of doom at 
the prisoner, as to the time, the place, the opportunity, the 
means, the conduct and the motive. Suffer not sympathy for 
youthful womanhood and wonderful beauty, to make you 
recreant to the obligations of your oath, to decide this is- 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


295 


sue of life or death, strictly in accordance with the proofs 
presented; and bitterly painful as is your impending duty, 
do not allow the wail of pity to drown the demands of 
justice, or the voice of that blood that cries to heaven for 
vengeance upon the murderess. May the righteous God 
who rules the destinies of the universe guide you, and en- 
able you to perform faithfully your awful duty.” 

Painfully solemn was the profound silence that pervaded 
the court-room, and the eyes of the multitude turned anx- 
iously to the grave countenance of the Judge. Mr. Dunbar 
had seated himself at a small table, not far from Beryl, and 
resting his elbow upon it, leaned his right temple in the 
palm of his hand, watching from beneath his contracted 
black brows the earnest, expectant faces of the jurymen; 
and his keen, glowing eyes indexed little of the fierce, wolf- 
ish pangs that gnawed ceaselessly at his heart, as the intol- 
erable suspense drew near its end. 

Judge Parkman leaned forward. 

^‘Gentlemen of the jury: before entering that box, as the 
appointed ministers of justice, to arbitrate upon the most 
momentous issue that can engage human attention — the life 
or death of a fellow creature — you called your Maker to 
witness that you would divest your minds of every shadow 
of prejudice, would calmly, carefully, dispassionately con- 
sider, analyze and weigh the evidence submitted for your 
investigation ; and irrespective of consequences, render a 
verdict in strict accordance with the proofs presented. You 
have listened to the testimony of the witnesses, to the theory 
of the prosecution, to the theory of the counsel for the de- 
fence; you have heard the statement of the accused, her 
repeated denial of the crime with which she stands charged; 
and finally you have heard the arguments of counsel, the 
summing up of all the evidence. The peculiar character of 
some of the facts presented as proof, requires on your part 
the keenest and most exhaustive analysis of the inferences 
to be drawn from them, and you ‘have need of patience, 
wisdom and courage’. While it is impossible that you can 


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contemplate the distressing condition of the accused without 
emotions of profound compassion, your duty ‘is prescribed 
by the law, which allows you no liberty to indulge any senti- 
ment, inconsistent with its strict performance’. You should 
begin ‘with the legal presumption that the prisoner is inno- 
cent, and that presumption must continue, until her guilt is 
satisfactorily proved. This is the legal right of the prisoner ; 
contingent on no peculiar circumstances of any particular 
case, but is the common right of every person accused of a 
crime. The law surrounds the prisoner with a coat of mail, 
that only irrefragable proofs of guilt can pierce, and the law 
declares her innocent, unless the proof you have heard on 
her trial satisfies you, beyond a reasonable doubt, that she 
is guilty. What constitutes reasonable doubt, it becomes 
your duty to earnestly and carefully consider. It is charged 
that the defendant, on the night of the twenty-sixth of 
October, did wilfully, deliberately, and premeditatedly mur- 
der Robert Luke Barrington, by striking him with a brass 
andiron. The legal definition of murder is the unlawful 
killing of another, with malice aforethought; and is divided 
into two degrees. Any murder committed knowingly, in- 
tentionally and wantonly, and without just cause or excuse, 
is murder in the first degree ; and this is the offence charged 
against the prisoner at the bar. If you believe from the 
evidence, that the defendant, Beryl Brentano, did at the 
time and place named, wilfully and premeditatedly kill Rob- 
ert Luke Barrington, then it will become your duty to find 
the defendant guilty of murder; if you do not so believe, 
then it will be your duty to acquit her. A copy of the le- 
gal definition of homicide, embracing murder in the first 
and second degrees, and of manslaughter in the first and 
second degrees, will be furnished for your instruction; and 
it is your right and privilege after a careful examination 
of all the evidence, to convict of a lesser crime than that 
charged in the indictment, provided all the evidence in this 
case, should so convince your minds, to the exclusion of a 
reasonable doubt. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


297 


“In your deliberations you will constantly bear in mem- 
ory, the following long established rules provided for the 
guidance of jurors: 

“ ‘I. — The burden of proof rests upon the prosecution, 
and does not shift or change to the defendant in any phase 
or stage of the case. 

“ TI. — Before the jury can convict the accused, they 
must be satisfied from the evidence that she is guilty of the 
offence charged in the indictment, beyond a reasonable 
doubt. It is not sufficient that they should believe her guilt 
only probable. No degree of probability merely, will au- 
thorize a conviction ; but the evidence must be of such char- 
acter and tendency as to produce a moral certainty of the 
prisoner’s guilt, to the exclusion of reasonable doubt. 

“ TIL — Each fact which is necessary in the chain of cir- 
cumstances to establish the guilt of the accused, must be 
distinctly proved by competent legal evidence, and if the 
jury have reasonable doubt as to any material fact, neces- 
sary to be proved in order to support the hypothesis of the 
prisoner’s guilt, to the exclusion of every other reasonable 
hypothesis, they must find her not guilty. 

“ TV. — If the jury are satisfied from the evidence, that 
the accused is guilty of the offence charged, beyond reason- 
able doubt, and no rational hypothesis or explanation can be 
framed or given (upon the whole evidence in the cause) 
consistent with the innocence of the accused, and at the 
same time consistent with the facts proved, they ought to 
find her guilty. The jury are the exclusive judges of the 
evidence, of its weight, and of the credibility of the wit- 
nesses. It is their duty to accept and be governed by the 
law, as given by the Court in its instructions.’ 

“The evidence in this case is not direct and positive, but 
presumptive; and your attention has been called to some 
well known cases of persons convicted of, and executed for 
capital crimes, whose entire innocence was subsequently 
made apparent. These arguments and cases only prove that, 
‘all human evidence, whether it be positive or presumptive 


298 


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in its character, like everything else that partakes of mor- 
tality, is fallible. The reason may be as completely con- 
vinced by circumstantial — as by positive evidence, and yet 
may possibly not arrive at the truth by either.’ 

“The true question, therefore, for your consideration, 
is not the kind of evidence in this case, but it is, what is the 
result of it in your minds? If it has failed to satisfy you 
of the guilt of the accused, and your minds are not con- 
vinced, vacillate in doubt, then you must acquit her, be the 
evidence what it may, positive or presumptive; but if the 
result of the whole evidence satisfies you, if you are con- 
vinced that she is guilty, then it is imperatively your duty 
to convict her, even if the character of the evidence be 
wholly circumstantial.’ Such is the law. 

“In resigning this case to you, I deem it my duty to di- 
rect your attention to one point, which I suggest that you 
consider. If the accused administered chloroform, did it 
indicate that her original intention was solely to rob the 
vault? Is the act of administering the chloroform con- 
sistent with the theory of deliberate and premeditated mur- 
der? In examining the facts submitted by counsel, take 
the suggestion just presented, with you, and if the facts 
and circumstances proved against her, can be accounted for 
on the theory of intended, deliberate robbery, without neces- 
sarily involving premeditated murder, it is your privilege to 
put that merciful construction upon them. 

“Gentlemen of the jury, I commit this mournful and ter- 
rible case to your decision; and solemnly adjure you to be 
governed in your deliberations, by the evidence as you un- 
derstand it, by the law as furnished in these instructions, 
and to render such verdict, as your reason compels, as your 
matured judgment demands, and your conscience unhesita- 
tingly approves and sanctions. May God direct and control 
your decision.” 


'AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


299 


CHAPTER XX. 

Drifting along the stream of testimony that rolled in 
front of the jury-box, an eager and excited public had 
with scarcely a dissenting voice arrived at the conclu- 
sion, that the verdict was narrowed to the limits of only 
two possibilities. It was confidently expected that the jury 
would either acquit unconditionally, or fail to agree; thus 
prolonging suspense, by a mistrial. It was six o’clock when 
the jurors, bearing the andiron, handkerchief, pipe, and a 
diagram of the bedroom at “Elm Bluff”, were led away to 
their final deliberation; yet so well assured was the mass 
of spectators, that they would promptly return to render 
a favorable verdict, that despite the inclemency of the 
weather, there was no perceptible diminution of the anxious 
crowd of men and women. 

The night had settled prematurely down, black and 
stormy; and though the fury of the gale seemed at one time 
to have spent itself, the wind veered to the implacable east, 
and instead of fitful gusts, a steady roaring blast freighted 
with rain smote the darkness. The officer conducted his 
prisoner across the dim corridor, and opened the door of 
the small anteroom, which frequent occupancy had ren- 
dered gloomily familiar. 

“I wish I could make you more comfortable, and it is a 
shame to shut you up in such an ice-box. I will throw my 
overcoat on the floor, and you can wrap your feet up in 
it. Yes, you must take it. I shall keep warm at the stove 
in the Sheriff’s room. The Judge will not wait later than 
ten o’clock, then I’ll take you back to Mrs. Singleton. It 
seems you prefer to remain here alone.” 

“Yes, entirely alone.” 

“You are positive, you won’t try a little hot punch, or a 
glass of wine?” 

“Thank you, but I wish only to be alone.” 


300 


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“Don’t be too down-hearted. You will never be convicted 
under that indictment, at least not by this jury, for I have 
a suspicion that there is one man among them, who will 
stand out until the stars fall, and I will tell you why. I 
happened to be looking at him, when your Christmas card 
was shown by Mr. Dunbar. The moment he saw it, he 
started, stretched out his hand, and as he looked at it, I 
saw him choke up, and pass his hand over his eyes. Soon 
after Christmas, that man lost his only child, a girl five 
years old, who had scarlet fever. To divert her mind, they 
gave her a Christmas card to play with, that some friend 
had sent to her mother. She had it in her hand when she 
died, in convulsions, and it was put in her coffin and buried 
with her. My wife helped to nurse and shroud her, and 
she told me it was the card shown in court; it was your 
card. The law can’t cut out the heartstrings of the jury, 
and I don’t believe that man would lift his hand against 
your life, any sooner than he would strike the face of his 
dead child.” 

He locked the door, and Beryl found herself at last alone, 
in the dreary little den where a single gas burner served 
only to show the surrounding cheerlessness. The furniture 
comprised a wooden bench along the wall, two chairs, and 
a table in the middle of the floor; and on the dusty panes 
of the grated window, a ray of ruddy light from a lamp post 
in the street beneath, broke through the leaden lances of the 
rain, and struggled for admission. 

The neurotic pharmacopoeia contains nothing so potent as 
despair to steady quivering nerves, and steel to superhuman 
endurance. For Beryl, the pendulum of suspense had ceased 
to swing, because the spring of hope had snapped; and the 
complete surrender, the mute acceptance of the worst pos- 
sible to come, had left her numb, impervious to dread. As 
one by one the discovered facts spelled unmistakably the 
name of her brother, allowing no margin to doubt his guilt, 
the necessity of atonement absorbed every other considera- 
tion; and the desire to avert his punishment extinguished 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


301 


the last remnant of selfish anxiety. If by suffering in his 
stead, she could secure to him life — the opportunities of re- 
pentance, of expiation, of making his peace with God, of 
saving his immortal soul — how insignificant seemed all else. 
The innate love of life, the natural yearning for happiness, 
the once fervent aspirations for fame — the indescribable long- 
ing for the fruition of youth’s high hopes, which like a Siren 
sang somewhere in the golden mists of futurity — all these 
were now crushed beyond recognition in the whirlwind that 
had wrecked her. 

Her father slept under silvery olives in a Tuscan dell, 
her mother within hearing of the waves that broke on the 
Atlantic shore; and if the wanderer could be purified by 
penitential tears, what mattered the shattering of the family 
circle on earth, when in the eternal Beyond, it would be in- 
dissolubly reformed? Over the black gulf that yawned 
in her young, pure life, the wings of her Christian faith 
bore her steadily, unwaveringly to the heavenly rest, that 
she knew remained for the people of God; and so, she 
seemed to have shalcen hands with the things of time and 
earth, and to stand on the border land, girded for departure. 
To meet her beloved dead, with the blessed announcement 
that Bertie must join them after a while, because she had 
ransomed his precious soul; and that the family would be 
complete under the heavenly roof, was recompense so rich, 
that the fangs of disgrace, of physical and mental torture 
were effectually extracted. By day and by night the ladder 
of prayer lifted her soul into that serene realm, where the 
fountains of balm are never drained; and into her face 
stole the reflection of that peace which only communion 
v/ith the Christian’s God can bring to those whom grief 
has claimed for its own. 

To-night, as she listened to the Coronach chanted by the 
gale, and the dismal accompaniment of the pelting rain, she 
realized how utterly isolated was her position, and kneeling 
on the bare floor, crossed her arms on the table, bowed her 
head upon them, and prayed for patience and strength. The 


302 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


ordeal had been fiery, but the end was at hand, and release 
must be near. 

She heard quick steps in the corridor, and the key was 
turned in the lock. Had the jury so promptly decided to 
destroy her? For an instant only, she shut her eyes; and 
when she opened them, Mr. Dunbar was leaning over her, 
folding closely about her shoulders some heavy wrap, whose 
soft fur collar his fingers buttoned around her throat. She 
had not known that she was cold, until the delicious sensa- 
tion of warmth crept like a caressing touch over her chilled 
limbs. She did not stir, and neither spoke; but after a mo- 
ment he turned toward the door; then she rose. 

•‘There is something I wish to say, and this is my last 
opportunity, as after to-night we shall not meet again. Dur- 
ing the past four months I have said harsh, bitter things 
to you, and have unjustly judged you. In grateful recogni- 
tion of all that you have so faithfully essayed to accom- 
plish in my behalf, I ask you now to forget everything but 
my gratitude for your effort to save me; and I offer my 
hand to you, as the one friend who sacrificed even his manly 
pride, and endured humiliation in order to redress my 
wrongs. I thank you very sincerely, Mr. Dunbar.” 

He took her outstretched hand, pressed it against his 
cheek, his eyes, held it to his lips; then a half smothered 
groan escaped him, and afraid to trust himself, he went 
quickly out. 

Believing that she stood on the confines of another world, 
she had possessed her soul in patience, waiting for the con- 
summation of the sacrifice; yet at the crisis of her fate, that 
singular, incomprehensible influence, long resisted, drew her 
thoughts to him, whom she regarded as the chosen puppet 
of destiny to hurry her into an untimely grave. She had 
fought the battle with him, under fearful odds; conscious 
of sedition in the heart that defied him, warily clutching 
with one hand the throat of rebellion in her citadel, while 
with the other, she parried assault. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


303 


Keeping lonely vigil, amid the strewn wreck of life and 
hope, she had waved away one persistent thought, that lit 
up the blackness with a sudden glory, that came with the 
face of an angel of light, and babbled with the silvery 
tongue of sorcery. As far as her future was concerned, 
this world had practically come to a premature end; but 
above the roar of ruin, and out of the yawning graves of 
slaughtered possibilities, rose and rang the challenge: If 
she had never come South, if she could have been allowed 
the chance of happiness that seemed every woman’s birth- 
right, if she had met and known Mr. Dunbar, before he 
was pledged to another; what then? If she were once 
more the Beryl of old, and he were free ? If ? What necro- 
mancy so wonderful, as the potentiality of if? Weighed in 
that popular balance — appearances — how stood the poor 
friendless prisoner, loaded with suspicion, tarnished with 
obloquy, on the verge of an ignominious death; in com- 
parison with the fair, proud heiress, dowered with blue blood, 
powerful in patrician influence, rich in all that made her 
the envy of her social world ? 

In the dazzling zenith of temporal prosperity, Leo Gor- 
don considered the heart of her betrothed her most precious 
possession; the one jewel which she would gladly have 
given all else to preserve; and yet, fate tore it from her 
grasp, and laid it at the feet, nay thrust it into the white 
hand of the woman who must die for a fiendish crime. A 
latter-day seer tells us, that in all realms, “Between laws 
there is no analogy, there is Continuity”; then in the uni- 
verse of ethical sociology, who shall trace the illimitable 
ramifications of the Law of Compensation? 

Up and down, back and forth, slowly, wearily walked 
the prisoner; and when the town clock struck eight, she 
mechanically counted each stroke. As in drowning men, 
the landmarks of a lifetime rise, huddle, almost press upon 
the glazing eyes, so the phantasmagoria of Beryl’s past, 
seemed projected in strange luminousness upon the pall of 


304 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


the present, like profiles in silvery flame cast on a black 
curtain. 

Holding her father’s hand, she walked in the Odenwald; 
sitting beside her mother on a carpet of purple vetches, she 
stemmed strawberries in a garden near Pistoja; clinging 
to Bertie’s jacket, she followed him across dimpling sands 
to dip her feet in the blue Mediterranean waves, that broke 
in laughter, showing teeth of foam, where dying sunsets 
reddened all the beach. Through sunny arcades, flushed 
with pomegranate, glowing with orange, silvered with 
lemon blossoms, came the tinkling music of contadini bells, 
the bleating of kids, the twittering of happy birds, the dis- 
tant chime of an Angelus; all the subtle harmony, the 
fragmentary melody that flickers through an Impromptu of 
Chopin or Schubert, She saw the simulacrum of her for- 
mer self, the proud, happy Beryl of old, singing from the 
score of the ‘‘Messiah”, in the organ loft of a marble 
church; she heard the rich tenor voice of her handsome 
brother, as he trilled a barcarole one night, crossing the 
Atlantic; she smelled the tuberoses at Mentone, the faint 
breath of lilies her father had loved so well, and then, 
blotting all else, there rose clear as some line of Mor- 
ghen’s, that attic room; the invalid’s bed, the low chair 
beside it, the wasted figure, the suffering, fever-flushed face 
of the beloved mother, as she saw her last, with the Grand 
Duke jasmine fastened at her throat. 

The door was thrown open, and the officer beckoned her 
to follow him. Back into the crowded court-room, where 
people pressed even into the window sills for standing room, 
where Judge and counsel sat gravely expectant; where the 
stillness of death had suddenly fallen. The officer con- 
ducted her to the bar, then drew back, and Mr. Dunbar came 
and stood at her side; resting his hand on the back of her 
chair. 

In that solemn hush, the measured tramp of the jury ad- 
vancing, and filing into their box, had the mournful, meas- 
ured beat as of pall bearers, keeping step to a dismal dirge ; 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


305 


and when the foreman laid upon the table the fatal brass 
unicorn, the muffled sound seemed ominous as the grating 
of a coffin lowered upon the cross bars of a gaping grave. 
As the roll was called, each man rose, and answered in a 
low but distinct tone. Then the clerk of the court asked: 

“Gentlemen of the jury, have you agreed upon your ver- 
dict ?” 

“We have,” replied the foreman. 

“What say you ! Guilty, or not guilty ?” 

Beryl had risen, and the gaslight shining full upon her 
pale, Phidian face, showed no trace of trepidation. Only 
the pathetic patience of a sublime surrender was visible on 
her frozen features. The eyes preternaturally large and lu- 
minous were raised far above the sea of heads, and their 
strained gaze might almost have been fixed upon the un- 
veiled face of the God she trusted. Her hands were folded 
over her mother’s ring, her noble head thrown proudly back. 

“We the jury, in the case of the State against Beryl 
Brentano, find defendant not guilty as charged in the in- 
dictment; but guilty of manslaughter in the first degree; 
and we do earnestly commend her to the mercy of the 
Court.” 

The girl staggered slightly, as if recoiling from a blow, 
and Mr. Dunbar caught her arm, steacfied her. The long 
pent tide of popular feeling broke its barriers, and the 
gates of Pandemonium seemed to swing open. Women 
sobbed; men groaned. In vain the Judge thundered “Si- 
lence”, “Order !” and not until an officer advanced to obey 
the command, to clear the court-room, was there any per- 
c<^ptible lull, in the storm of indignation. 

Turning to the Judge, Mr. Dunbar said: 

“In behalf of the prisoner, I most respectfully beg that 
the Court will end her suspense; and render her return to 
this bar unnecessary by promptly pronouncing sentence.” 

“Is it the wish of the . prisoner, that sentence should not 
be delayed ?” 


3o6 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


“She wishes to know her fate.” 

She had uttered no sound, but the lashes trembled, fell 
over the tired, aching, strained eyes; and lifting her locked 
hands she bowed her chin upon them. 

Some moments elapsed, before Judge Parkman spoke; 
then his voice was low and solemn. 

“Beryl Brentano, you have been indicted for the deliberate 
and premeditated murder of your grandfather, Robert Luke 
Barrington. Twelve men, selected for their intelligence and 
impartiality, have patiently and attentively listened to the 
evidence in this case, and have under oath endeavored to 
discover the truth of this charge. You have had the bene- 
fit of a fair trial, by unbiased judges, and finally, the jury 
in the conscientious discharge of their duty, have convicted 
you of manslaughter in the first degree, and commended 
you to the mercy of the Court. In consideration of your 
youth, of the peculiar circumstances surrounding you, and 
especially, in deference to the wishes and recommendation 
of the jury — whose verdict, the Court approves, I therefore 
pronounce upon you the lightest penalty which the law af- 
fixes to the crime of manslaughter, of which you stand 
convicted; which sentence is — that you be taken hence to 
the State Penitentiary, and there be kept securely, for the 
term of five years.” 

With a swift movement, Mr. Dunbar drew the crape veil 
over her face, put her arm through his, and led her into 
the corridor. Hurriedly he exchanged some words in an 
undertone with the two officers, who accompanied him to 
the rear entrance of the court-house; and then, in answer 
to a shrill whistle, a close carriage drawn by two horses 
drew up to the door, followed by the dismal equipage set 
apart for the transportation of prisoners. The deputy sheriff 
stepped forward, trying to shield the girl from the driving 
rain, and assisted her into the carriage. Mr. Dunbar sprang 
in and seated himself opposite. The officer closed the door, 
ordered the coachman to drive on, and then entering the 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


307 

gloomy black box, followed closely, keeping always in sight 
of the vehicle in advance. 

The clock striking ten, sounded through the muffling 
storm a knell as mournful as some tolling bell, while into 
that wild, moaning Friday night, went the desolate woman, 
wearing henceforth the brand of Cain— remanded to the 
convict’s home. 

She had thrown back her veil to ease the stifling sensa- 
tion in her throat, and Mr. Dunbar could see now and then, 
as they dashed past a street lamp, that she sat upright, 
still as stone. 

At last she said, in a tone peculiarly calm, like that of 
one talking in sleep: 

“What did it mean— that verdict?” 

“That you went back to ‘Elm Bluff’ with no intention of 
attacking Gen’l Darrington.” 

“That I went there deliberately to steal, and then to avoid 
detection, killed him? That was the verdict of the jury?” 

She waited a moment. 

“Answer me. That was the meaning? That was the 
most merciful verdict they could give to the world?” 

Only the hissing sound of the rain upon the glass pane 
of the carriage, made reply. 

They had reached the bridge, when a hysterical laugh 
startled the man, who leaned back on the front seat, with 
his arms crossed tightly over a heart throbbing with al- 
most unendurable pain. 

“To steal, to rob, to plunder. Branded for all time a 
thief, a rogue, a murderess. I ! — I — ” 

A passionate wail told the strain was broken: “I, my 
father’s darling, my father’s Beryl ! Hurled into a living 
tomb, herded with convicts, with the vilest outcasts that 
disgrace the earth — this is worse than a thousand deaths ! 
It would have been so merciful to crush out the life they 
mangled; but to doom me to the slow torture of this loath- 
some grave, where death brings no release ! To die is so 


3o8 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


easy, so blessed; but to live — a convicted felon! O, my 
God! my God! Hast Thou indeed forsaken me?” 

In the appalling realization of her fate, she rocked to and 
fro for a moment only, fiercely shaken by the horror of a 
future never before contemplated. Then the proud soul 
stifled its shuddering sigh, lifted its burden of shame, si- 
lently struggled up its awful Via Criicis. Mute and still, she 
leaned back in the corner of the carriage. 

‘T could have saved you, but you would not accept deliv- 
erance. You thwarted every effort, tied the hands that 
might have set you free; and by your own premeditated 
course throup'hout the trial, deliberately dragged this doom 
down upon your head. You counted the cost, and you 
elected, chose of your own free will to offer yourself as a 
sacrifice, to the law, for the crime of another. You are 
your own merciless fate, decreeing self-immolation. You 
were willing to die, in order to save that man’s life; and 
you can certainly summon fortitude to endure five years’ 
deprivation of his society ; sustained by the hope that having 
thereby purchased his security, you may yet reap the re- 
ward your heart demands, reunion with its worthless, de- 
graded idol. I have watched, weighed, studied you ; searched 
every stray record of your fair young life, found the clear 
pages all pure; and I have doubted, marvelled that you, lily- 
hearted, lily-souled, lily-handed, could cast the pearl of 
your love down in the mire, to be trampled by swinish 
feet.” 

The darkness of the City of Dis that seemed to brood 
under the wings of the stormy night, veiled Beryl’s face; 
and her silence goaded him beyond the limits of prudence, 
which he had warily surveyed for himself. 

“Day and night, I hear the maddening echo of your accu- 
sing cry, ‘You have ruined my life!’ God knows, you have 
as effectually ruined mine. You have your revenge — if it 
comfort you to know it ; but I am incapable of your sublime 
renunciation. I am no patient martyr; I am, instead, an 
intensely selfish man. You choose to hug the ashes of deso- 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


309 


Mtion; I purpose to sweep away the wreck, to rebuild on 
the foundation of one hope, which all the legions in hell 
cannot shake. Between you and me the battle has only 
begun, and nothing but your death or my victory will end 
It. You have your revenge; I intend to enjoy mine. Though 
he burrow as a mole, or skulk in some fastness of Alaska, I 
will track and seize that cowardly miscreant, and when the 
iaw receives its guilty victim, you shall be freed from sus- 
picion, freed from prison, and most precious of all boons, 
you shall be freed forever from the vile contamination of 
his polluting touch. For the pangs you have inflicted on 
me, I will have my revenge: you shall never be profaned 
by the name of wife.” 

Up the rocky hill toiled the horses, arching their necks 
as they stooped their faces to avoid the blinding rain; and 
soon the huge blot of prison walls, like a crouching mon- 
ster ambushed in surrounding gloom, barred the way. 

In two windows of the second story, burned lights that 
borrowed lurid rays in their passage through the mist, and 
seemed to glow angrily, like the red eyes of a sullen beast 
of prey. The carriage stopped. A moment after, the 
deputy-sheriff sprang from his wagon and rang the bell 
close to the great gate. Two dogs bayed hoarsely, and 
somewhere in the building an answering bell sounded. 

Beryl leaned forward. 

“Mr. Dunbar, there is one last favor I ask at your hands. 
I want my — my — I want that pipe, that was shown in court. 
Will you ask that it may be given to me? Will you send it 
to me?” 

A half strangled, scarcely audible oath was his only 
reply. 

She put out her hand, laid it on his. 

“You have caused me so much suffering, surely you will 
not deny me this only recompense I shall ever ask.” 

His hand closed over hers. 

“If I bring it to you, will you confess who smoked it 
last?” 


310 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


“After to-night, sir, I think it best I should never see 
your face again.” 

The officer opened the carriage door, the warden ap- 
proached, carrying a lantern in one hand and an umbrella 
in the other. Mr. Dunbar stepped from the carriage and 
turning, stretched out his arms, suddenly snatched the girl 
for an instant close to his heart, and lifted her to the ground. 

The warden opened the gate, swinging his lantern high 
to light the way, and by its flickering rays Lennox Dunbar 
saw the beautiful white face, the wonderful, sad eyes, the 
wan lips contracted by a spasm of pain. 

She turned and followed the warden; the lights wavered; 
the great iron gate swung back in its groove, the bolt fell 
with a sullen clang ; the massive key rattled, a chain clanked, 
and all was darkness she was locked irrevocably into her 
living tomb. 


CHAPTER XXL 

The annual resurrection had begun; the pulse of Na- 
ture quickened, rose, throbbed under the vernal summons; 
pale, tender grass-blades peeped above the mould, houstonias 
lifted their blue disks to the March sun, and while the world 
of birds commenced their preludes where silky young leaves 
shyly fluttered, earth and sky were wrapped in that silvery 
haze with which coy Springtime half veils her radiant face. 
The vivid verdure of wheat and oat fields, the cooler aqua 
marina of long stretches of rye, served as mere ground- 
work for displaying in bold relief the snowy tufts of plum, 
the creamy clusters of pear, and the glowing pink of peach 
orchards that clothed the hillsides, and brimmed the val- 
leys with fragrant prophecies of fruitful plenty. 

Dimmed by distance to fine lines of steel, wavered the 
flocks of wild geese flying from steaming bayous to icy lakes 
in the far North, and now and then as the ranks dipped, a 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 31 1 

white flash lit the vignettes traced against the misty, pearl- 
gray sky. 

Spring sunshine had kissed the lips of death, and universal 
life sprang palpitating to begin anew the appointed yearly 
cycle; yet amid the flush and stir of mother earth, there 
lay hopelessly still and cold some human hopes, which no 
divine “Come forth” would ever revivify. 

Into the face of Leo Gordon had crept that strange and 
indescribable change, which is analogous to the peculiar as- 
pect of the clear heavens when dark clouds just faintly rim 
the horizon, below which they heap their sombre, sullen 
masses, projecting upward weird shadows. 

Apparently the sun of prosperity burned in the zenith 
and gilded her path with happiness, but analyzed by the 
prism of her consciousness the brightness faded, the colors 
paled, and grim menace crossed all, like the dark lines of 
Fraunhofer. To be chosen, loved, wooed and won exclu- 
sively for herself, irrespective of all extraneous appurten- 
ances and advantages, is the supreme hope innate in every 
woman, and the dread that her wealth might invest her with 
charms not intrinsic, had made Leo unusually distrustful of 
the motives of her numerous suitors. That Leighton Doug- 
lass loved the woman, not the heiress, she knew beyond the 
possibility of cavil or doubt, and when, after mature de- 
liberation, she promised her hand to Mr. Dunbar, she had 
felt equally sure that no mercenary consideration biased his 
choice or inspired his professions of attachment. 

For a nature so proudly poised, so averse to all impulsive 
manifestations of emotion, her affections were surprisingly 
warm and clinging, and she loved him with all the depth and 
fervor of her tender, generous heart; hence the slow tor- 
ture of her humiliation in the hour of disenchantment. To 
women who love is given a sixth sense, a subtile instinct 
whereby, as in an occult alembic, they discern the poison 
that steals into their wine of joy; so Leo was not long in 
ignorance that her coveted kingdom belonged by right of 


312 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


conquest to another, and that she reigned only nominally 
and by courtesy. 

The evil we most abhor generally espies us afar off, chases 
tirelessly, crouches at our feet, grimacing triumphantly at 
our impotence to escape its loathsome clutches; and Leo’s 
pride bled sorely in the realization that she had sold her 
hand and heart for base counterfeit equivalents. In a crisis 
of keen disappointment, only very noble natures can re- 
main strictly just, yet in arraigning her lover for disloyalty, 
this sorrowing woman abstained from casting all the blame 
upon him. He had not intentionally deceived her, had not 
deliberately betrayed her trust; he was the unwilling victim 
of an inexplicable fascination against which she felt assured 
he had struggled sullenly and persistently; and which, in 
destroying the beautiful edifice of their mutual hopes, of- 
fered him nothing but humiliation in exchange. 

Standing to-day beside the pyramid of scarlet geraniums, 
and velvety, gold-powdered begonias in the centre of the 
octagonal room, where the warm Spring sun shone down 
through the dome, falling aslant on the great snowy owl and 
the rose-colored cockatoo smoothing their plumes on the top 
of the glittering brass cages — Leo contrasted the luxurious 
and elegant details of her lovely home with the grim and 
bleak cell where, in shame and ignominy, dwelt the young 
stranger who had stolen her throne. A beggar by the road- 
side had filched from the queen in Her palace, her crown 
and sceptre, and the pomp and splendor of royal surround- 
ings only mocked and emphasized an empty sham. Merely 
a trifle paler than usual, and somewhat heavy-eyed from 
acquaintance with midnight vigils, she proudly bore her new 
burden of grief with her wonted easy grace; but the pretty 
mouth was compressed into harder, narrower lines, and the 
delicate nose dilated in a haughtier curve. Sooner or later 
we all learn the wisdom of the unwelcome admonition : “For- 
tune sells what we believe she gives.” 

For two months Leo’s relations with Mr. Dunbar had 
been distinctly strained, and while both carefully avoided 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


313 


any verbal attempt at explanation, her manner had grown 
more distant, his more scrupulously courteous, but pre-occu- 
pied, guarded and cold. Knowing that abdication was in- 
evitable, she slowly revolved the best method of release, 
which promised the least sacrifice of w'omanly dignity, and 
the greatest economy of unpleasantness on the part of her 
betrothed. 

During the week of the trial, she had seen him but twice, 
and immediately after he had been summoned to attend some 
suit in New Orleans, and had hurriedly bidden her adieu 
in the presence of others. With punctilious regularity he 
wrote studiedly polished, graceful yet merely friendly let- 
ters, and like ice morsels they slowly widened the glacier 
creeping between the two. 

To her council she admitted only her bruised pride, her 
bleeding heart, her relentless incorruptible conscience; and 
over the conclusion, slie shed no tears, made no moan, al- 
lowed no margin for pity. Early on that Spring morning, 
she had received a glowing sheaf of La France and Duchess 
de Brabant roses, accompanied by a brief note announcing 
Mr. Dunbar’s return, and requesting an interview at noon. 
The tone of her reply was markedly cordial, and after of- 
fering congratulations upon his birthday, she begged his ac- 
ceptance of a souvenir made for the occasion by her own 
hands, a dainty “bit of embroidery which she flattered her- 
self, he would value for the sake of the donor.” 

Who doubts that Vashti made a most elaborate toilette, 
on that day of humiliation, when discarded and discrowned 
she trailed her royal robes for the last time across the 
marble courts of Shushan, going forth to make room for 
Queen Esther? Amid the loops of lace at her throat, and 
into the jewelled clasp of her belt, Leo had fastened the 
exquisite roses, noting the perfect harmony of her costume, 
as she smoothed the folds of the sapphire velvet robe which 
she knew that Mr. Dunbar particularly admired. The lofty, 
beautiful room was aglow with rich color from oriental rugs 
strewn about the marble floor, from masses of hyacinths 


314 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


and crimson camellias in stands, baskets, vases; from bril- 
liant tropical birds flitting to and fro; and through the gilt 
wire vista of the aviary, the fountain in the peristyle be- 
yond threw up its silvery hands to arrest attention, and 
softly beat time to the music of the gold and green can- 
aries. The large white owl with wide, prescient, berylline 
eyes, rose suddenly, and on slow wings circled round and 
round, flying gradually to the ceiling of the dome, then 
swooped back to its perch; and the Siberian hound, a huge, 
dun-hued creature, lifted his head from the velvet rug and 
rubbed it against his mistress’ dress. 

As the sound of a step she knew so well, rang in the 
vestibule, the blood leaped to Leo’s cheeks, but she walked 
quickly forward, and met her visitor just beneath the ''Salve** 
in the scroll of olives, putting out her hands across the onyx 
table with its red and black bowl of violets. Thus at arm’s 
length, she held him a moment. 

“I am very glad to see you ; and I wish you a happy birth- 
day, hoping your new year may be as bright as the sun 
that ushers it in; and as full of fragrance as these lovely 
roses, which I wear in honor of the day.” 

Hand in hand, she smiled up into his handsome face, and 
certainly he had never looked more kingly, more worthy 
of her homage. 

“Thank you, dear Leo. The light and sweetness of my 
future can be blotted out, only by losing you. You must 
be the fulfilment of your own kind wishes.” 

He raised her left hand, kissed it lightly, and as she with- 
drew her fingers and resumed her seat, in front of an otto- 
man ablaze with a tangled mass of brilliant Berlin wool, 
he sat down at her side. 

Ere she was aware of his intention, he pushed the otto- 
man beyond her reach, and dexterously catching her hand, 
took the gold thimble from her finger and dropped it into 
his vest pocket. 

“Perish the fetich of needle-work, crochet and knitting! 
To-day at least it shall not come between us; and I claim 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


315 


your eyes, your undivided attention. Now tell me how 
many of my rivals, how many audacious suitors you have 
held at bay, by these gay Penelope webs woven in my ab- 
sence ?” 

“Has Ulysses the right to be curious? Should not mem- 
ories of Calypso incline him to unlock the fetters of Pene- 
lope ?” 

“Did she ever for one instant deem the silken cords she 
hugged to her loyal, tender heart — fetters? Sweet, patient 
incarnation of unquestioning fidelity, she stands the eternal 
antithesis of Mrs. Caudle. From Kittie’s letter, I inferred 
you were not well ; but certainly, my dear Leo, I never saw 
you look more lovely than to-day.^’ 

“Just now Kittie’s perceptions are awry, dazzled by the 
rose light that wraps her world. Has Prince arrived?” 

“Yes, he came yesterday, and my little sister is entirely 
and overwhelmingly happy, for he is literally her Prince. 
Physically he is much improved; has developed surprisingly, 
but has the shy, taciturn manner of a student, and is, I 
fear, a hopeless bookworm.” 

“Why should his literary taste disquiet you? He went 
to Germany to foster his scholarly inclination.” 

“Why? Why should a man apprentice himself to a 
carpenter, and become an expert joiner, when he can never 
obtain the tools requisite to enable him to work success- 
fully? His aspirations run along the grooves of science; 
and after dear little Kittie, his favorite Goddess is Biology. 
Trained in the laboratory of a German scientist, where every 
imaginable facility for researches in vivisection, and for the 
investigation of certain biological problems was afforded 
him, he lands in America empty-handed, and behold my car- 
penter minus tools.” 

“Having fitted himself for the profession, you surely 
will not attempt now to discourage or dissuade him.” 

“The logic of impecuniosity will doubtless accomplish 
more than the dissuasion of friends. Microscopic inspec- 
tion of red and white corpuscles, of virus, tissues, proto- 


3i6 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


plasm and chlorophyl is probably very interesting to lovers 
of microbes, and students of segmentation, but such ab- 
stract pursuits appertain to purple and fine linen. A pro- 
fession means much; but ability to practise, infinitely more. 
Just now the paramount problem is, how Prince can best 
make his bread. Six months ago, he was prospectively so 
rich that he could indulge the whim of blowing scientific 
soap-bubbles labelled with abstruse symbols; at present, ne- 
cessity directs his attention to paying his board bills.” 

“I thought a liberal allowance had been settled upon him, 
and ample provision made for his future ?” 

“So there certainly was, on paper; but the destruction of 
the record invalidated the gift.” 

“All the world knows that he has the rights of an adopted 
son.” 

“All the world knows equally well, that failing to pro- 
duce the will, Prince has lost his legacy, and must enlist in 
the army of ‘bread-winners’.” 

“Then what becomes of ‘Elm Bluff’ and its fine estate?” 

“They descend in the line decreed alike by law and na- 
ture, to the nearest blood relation,” 

Leo felt the blood reddening her throat and cheeks, but 
under the quick glance of her hazel eyes, his handsome 
face always en garde showed no embarrassing conscious- 
ness. Fearful of silence, she said in a perplexed, inconse- 
quent tone : 

“How manifestly unjust. Poor Kittie!” 

“Why poor Kittie? Her beaming face is eloquent repu- 
diation of your pity, and she verily believes her blond- 
headed, scholarly Prince a bountiful equivalent for all Croe- 
sus’ belongings. Rich little Kittie ! After all, where genuine 
love reigns, worldly environment matters comparatively lit- 
tle; love makes happiness, and happiness is the reconciler.” 

A throb of pain shook the woman’s heart as she realized 
the bitter truth that he spoke from an experience born out 
of season; that he was athirst for that which her fortune, 
her love, her own fair, graceful self could never give him. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


317 

She looked at him, with an arch smile lighting her face, 
but he saw the trembling of her lips, noted the metallic ring 
in hej* voice. 

“‘Et in Arcadia Egof Recent associations have ren- 
dered you idyllic. I can recall a period when ‘love in a 
cottage’ was the target that challenged the keenest arrows 
of your satire. Rich little Kittie has my warmest congratu- 
lations. Will Prince remain in X ?” 

“How can he? The demand here for amateur scientists 
is not sufficiently encouraging; and I rather think he gravi- 
tates toward a college professorship, which might at least 
supply him abundantly with rabbits, turtles, frogs and 
guinea-pigs for biological manipulation and experiment. One 
of the gay balloons floating through his mind, is a series 
of lectures to be delivered in the large cities. Heredity is 
his pet hobby, and he proposes to canter it under the sad- 
dle of Weismann^s theory (whatever that may be), ex- 
pounding it to scientific Americans. As yet no plans have 
crystallized. His allowance was paid semi-annually, but 
of course it failed him last January, and no alternative 
presents itself but some attempt to utilize his technical lore. 

There is a vacancy in the faculty of C University, and 

I shall write at once to the board of trustees.” 

Like a moth, Leo flitted closer to the flame. 

“Will he make no attempt to secure his rights?” 

“He is too wise to waste his time in so fruitless an en- 
deavor.” 

“Have you advised him to submit tamely to the depriva- 
tion of his fortune?” 

“Pie has not consulted me, but Wolverton, who is his 
cousin, convinced him of the futility of any legal proceed- 
ings.” 

“Does General Barrington’s granddaughter understand 
that Prince’s career will be ruined for want of the money 
to which he is entitled?” 


3i8 at the mercy OF TIBERIUS 

“I am not acquainted with the views Gen’l Barrington’s 
granddaughter entertains concerning Prince, as I have not 
seen her since the trial ended. Have you?” 

Each looked steadily at the other, and under the gleam of 
his eyes, hers fell, and her color flickered. 

“I went once, but was denied admission. Even Sister 
Serena sees her no longer. You doubtless know that she is 
recovering slowly from a severe attack of illness.” 

“I have heard nothing since the night she was convicted 
and sentenced. To-day I found a message at my office from 
Singleton, asking me to call at my earliest convenience at the 
penitentiary, on a matter of legal business. To what it re- 
fers, I know not, as I came immediately here.” 

There was a brief silence, in which his gaze mercilessly 
searched her fair, proud face; then with a supreme effort 
she laid her hand suddenly on his, and looked up smiling: 

“I believe I was growing very impatient over your pro- 
longed absence in New Orleans. Time dragged dismally, 
and I was never more rejoiced than when I received your 
last letter, and knew that I should see you to-day. Len- 
nox, I have set my heart on something, which only your con- 
sent and acquiescence will secure to me. I am about to ask 
for a mammoth sugar-plum that has dangled temptingly 
before my eyes for nearly a year, and I shall enjoy it the 
more if you bestow it graciously. Can you be generous and 
indulge my selfish whim?” 

He felt a quiver in the cold fingers over which his warm 
hand closed, saw the throbbing of the artery in her white 
throat, the ebbing of the scarlet in lips that bravely held 
their coaxing, smiling curves, and he knew that the crisis 
he had long foreseen was drawing near. 

Leaning closer, he looked down into her brown eyes. The 
end must come; but he would not precipitate it. Like 
Francis at Pavia, he acknowledged to himself that all was 
lost, save honor. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


319 


“Whenever my Leo convinces me she can be selfish, I 
promise all that she can possibly ask; but the selfishness 
must first be incontrovertibly established.” 

He had never been dearer to her than at that moment, 
when his brilliant eyes seemed to search her soul and mag- 
netize her; yet she did not falter and the aching of her 
heart was a goad to her will. 

“You merely shower lesser sugar-plums, intending they 
shall surfeit. Lennox, you know how often I have longed 
to make the journey to Greece, Asia Minor and Egypt; 
you remember I have repeatedly expressed the wish? You — ” 

“Pardon me, sweetheart, but this is the first time I ever 
heard it.” 

“You forget. At last the consummation unfolds itself as 
smoothly as the fourth act of a melodrama. My friend 
and schoolmate, Alma Cutting, of New York, invites a 
small party of ladies and gentlemen to accompany her in a 
cruise through the Levant, on her father’s new and elegant 
steam yacht ‘Cleopatra’. I have pressing letters from Alma 
and Mr. Cutting, kindly urging me to join them in New 
York by the first of May, at which time they expect to start 
on a preliminary cruise through the North and Baltic seas; 
drifting southward so as to reach Sicily and Malta as soon 
as cool weather permits. Do you wonder that so charming 
and picturesque a tour tempts me sorely?” 

Unconsciously she had hurried her enunciation, but im- 
perturbable as the bronze he resembled, Mr. Dunbar lis- 
tened; merely passing his left arm around her, drawing her 
resisting form closer to him, holding her firmly. 

“I am waiting for the selfish aspect of this scheme, else I 
should answer at once, the coveted sugar-plum is yours, and 
we will make the tour whenever you like, with the minor 
difference of mere details; we will go in our own yacht.” 

She caught her breath, and for an instant the world swam 
in a burst of dazzling light. Beyond the reach of the 
usurper’s witchery, was it not possible that she might re- 
gain the alienated heart? Love chanted, it is worth the 


320 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


trial ; take him away, win him back. Pride sternly set foot 
upon this spark of hope, with cruel insistence answering: 
his love has never been yours; defrauded of the diamond, 
will you accept and patiently wear paste? The quick re- 
vulsion was tantalizing as would have been the vanishing of 
the ram from Abraham’s gladdened sight; the swift with- 
drawal of Diana’s stag into the miraculous cloud at Aulis. 

“That would be too severe a tax upon your good nature 
and indulgence, and involves a sacrifice of your professional 
plans, which I certainly am not so intensely and monstrously 
selfish as to permit you to make. I am so well aware of 
the reasons that necessitate your remaining in America, in 
order to secure the appointment you are laboring to obtain, 
that I refuse the sugar plum if bought with your disap- 
pointment.” 

“Selfishness not established; you must plead on some bet- 
ter ground. Suppose that the happiness of the woman who 
has done me the honor to promise me her hand, is just 
now my supreme aim, paramount to every other ambitious 
scheme; and that to insure it, I hazard all else? Remem- 
ber the privilege of choice is mine.” 

It was the instinct not of affection, but of honor strain- 
ing hard to hold him to his allegiance, and her proud spirit 
thrilled under the consciousness of his motive in striving 
to spare her. A crimson spot burned on each cheek, a spark 
kindled in the soft, tender eyes. She struggled to free her- 
self, but his clasp tightened. 

“Conceding the generosity that would impel you to im- 
molate your feelings, in order to gratify my wishes, I de- 
cline the sacrifice. You must indulge my desire to receive 
my sugar plum in the bonbonniere of the ‘Cleopatra’.” 

He pressed her sunny head against his shoulder, and 
rested his cheek on hers. 

“Is it my Leo’s wish to leave me, to go alone?” 

“Yes, to accompany Alma.” 

“For an absence of indefinite duration?” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


321 


“Certainly for a year; possibly longer; but you must 
be gracious in yielding. If you really desire to promote 
my happiness, let me go feeling that you consent freely.” 

He comprehended fully all that he was surrendering, the 
noble, pure, devoted heart; the refining, elevating compan- 
ionship, the control of a liberal fortune, the proud distinc- 
tion of calling her his wife; and yet above the refrain of 
many mingled regrets, he felt an infinite relief that he had 
been spared the responsibility of the estrangement. 

“Whatever your happiness demands, I cannot refuse to 
concede, but you can scarcely require me to receive ‘gra- 
ciously’ the only construction I can possibly place upon your 
request; that I am no longer an essential element in your 
happiness.” 

Knowing that he owed her every possible reparation, he 
was resolved to shield her womanly pride from any addi- 
tional wounds. He withdrew his encircling arm, released 
her hand, walked to the end of the aviary, and stood watch- 
ing the shimmer of the fountain, where two of the ring- 
doves held their wings aslant to catch the spray. After 
some moments she joined him, and laid her slender fingers 
on his arm. 

“Dear Lennox, I propose at least a temporary change in 
our relations, and even at the risk of incurring your dis- 
pleasure, I prefer to be perfectly frank. When you asked 
me to become your wife, neither of us contemplated the 
long separation involved in this cruise abroad, which I 
ardently desire for many reasons to make; and I am un- 
willing to fetter either you or myself by an engagement 
during my absence. I want to be entirely free, bound by no 
promise ; and could I ask release, unless you accepted yours ?” 

He put his palm under her chin, and lifted the sweet, 
pure face, forcing her to return his gaze. 

“Have I forfeited your confidence?” 

“No, Lennox. I have an indestructible faith in your 
honor.” 


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AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


Her clear, truthful eyes assured him she acquitted him 
of all intention to violate in any jot or tittle the forms of 
his allegiance. 

“You deem me incapable of intentionally betraying your 
noble trust?” 

“I do — indeed I do.” 

“My peerless Leo, have you ceased to love me?” 

She shut her eyes an instant, and the delicate, flower 
face blanched; the treacherous lips quivered: 

“No.” 

“Who has supplanted me in your heart, for once I know 
it was all my own?” 

“Lennox, you are still more to me than all the world be- 
side; but I ask time, I must be free at present. Let me 
go away untrammelled; consider yourself as unfettered, as 
before our engagement, and when the year expires, if you 
deem me absolutely necessary to your happiness, you can 
readily ask a renewal of your bonds, and I can be sure by 
that time whether my happiness depends upon becoming 
your wife. After to-day I shall not wear your ring; and 
if, while away, I send it back to you, interpret it as a final 
decision that in the future we can only be very faithful and 
attached friends. I have sadly mistaken your character if 
you refuse me release from a compact which I now cer- 
tainly desire to cancel.” 

A shadow fell over his face, and he sighed heavily; but 
whether the utterance of regret or relief she never knew. 

“Your heart shall no longer be burdened by bonds which 
I can loosen. Because your peace and happiness are more 
to me than my own, I grant you complete release. When my 
ring affronts you with disagreeable memories of a past, 
which will always be hallowed and precious to me, as the 
one beautiful dream that brightened my youth, that crowned 
me for a season at least with the trust and love of the no- 
blest woman I have ever known, do not return it ; let it slip 
from the hand it made my own, and find in the blue sea a 
grave as deep as the chasm — that you will — shall divide 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


323 


our lives. I honor you too profoundly to question your 
course ; yet there is an explanation which I owe to m3'’self 
as well as to you. Leo, no man can ever be worthy to 
call you wife, but perhaps I am less unworthy than you 
probably deem me? While in New Orleans, I wrote a 
long letter, which I afterward decided not to send by mail. 
I brought it to-day, intending to put it into your hand.” 

He took from the inside pocket of his coat, an envelope 
addressed to her, broke the seal and pointed at the head of 
the sheet to the date, some three weeks earlier. She sur- 
mised by that wonderful instinct which God grants women 
as armor against the slow, ponderous aggressiveness of 
man’s tyranny, the nature of its contents. Had she merely 
anticipated by an hour his petition for release? Even the 
bitterness of this conjecture was neutralized by the testi- 
mony it bore to his integrity of purpose, his unwillingness 
to conceal his disloyalty. When temples are shattered and 
altars crumble, we save our idol and flee into the wilder- 
ness, exulting in the assurance that no clay feet defile it. 

Leo shook her head and gently put aside the proffered let- 
ter. 

“You wrote it for the eyes of one who had pledged her- 
self to bear your name; the revocation of that promise an- 
nuls my right to read it.” 

Mr. Dunbar understood the apprehension that made her 
shiver slightly. She was marching away proudly with fly- 
ing colors, having dictated the terms of his capitulation. 
Should he suffer the imputation of treachery and intentional 
deception, rather than turn the tide of battle, trail her ban- 
ner in the dust, and add to her pain by mortally stabbing 
that intense womanly pride which now swallowed up every 
emotion of her soul? 

The more thoroughly chivalrous a man’s nature, the keener 
his craving for the honors of war. 

“Because henceforth our paths diverge, I prefer to offer 
you my exculpation, desiring amid the general wreck, to 


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retain at least your undiminished esteem. Will you read 
my confession?” 

“No; that would entail the necessity of absolution, and I 
might not be able to command the requisite amiability, 
should occasion demand it. We have shaken hands with 
the past, and you owe me nothing now but pardon for any 
pain I may have given you, and occasional kind thoughts 
when the ocean divides us. I promise you my unwavering 
esteem; in exchange grant me your cordial friendship.” 

She was growing strangely white, and her breath flut- 
tered, but eyes and lips came to the rescue with a steadfast 
smile. 

“You allow me no alternative but submission to your 
will ; yet remember, dear Leo, that in surrendering your 
pledged faith, I hold' myself as free from any intentional 
forfeiture, as on the day you gave me your promise.” 

“In token that I believe it, I salute and wear your roses.” 

She bent her head, touched with her lips the flowers at 
her throat, and smiling bravely, held out both hands. He 
took them, joined the palms, and kissed her softly, rever- 
ently on the forehead. 

“God bless you, dear Leo. To have known so intimately 
a nature as noble and exalted as yours, has left an indelible 
impression for good upon my life, which must henceforth be 
very lonely. Good-bye.” 

With beat of drum, and blare of bugles, pride claimed 
the victory; but as Leo watched the tall, fine form pass 
out from the beautiful home she had fondly hoped to share 
with him, she clasped her hands across her lips to stifle the 
cry that told how dearly she had bought the semblance of 
triumph. 

When the quick echo of his horse’s hoofs died away, she 
went swiftly to her writing desk. 

“Dear Uncle: Please send the enclosed telegram to Mr. 
Cutting. I had a sad but decisive interview with Mr. Dun- 
bar, and after obtaining his consent to my tour, we thought 
it best to annul our engagement. Tell Aunt Patty, and spare 


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325 


me ali questions. I have not been hasty, and I asked to be 
released, because I have deemed it best to leave him en- 
tirely free.” 

Sealing the note she rang for Justine. 

“Take this to my uncle’s study, and tell Andrew to bring 
my phaeton to the door at four o’clock. Until then, see 
that no one disturbs me.” 

With averted face she held out the envelope, then the cur- 
tain fell; and in solitude the aching heart went over the 
fatal field, silently burying its slain hopes, realizing the bit- 
terness of its Cadmean victory. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

Certainly, Prince, I understand your motives and ap- 
plaud your decision, which is creditable alike to your 
heart and head. At father’s death he confided Kittie to 
my guardianship, and I cannot consent to her scheme of 
going abroad with you, until your studies have been com- 
pleted. She has a few thousands, it is true, but her slim 
fortune would not suffice to accomplish your scientific object, 
and even if it were larger, you are quite right to ‘decline 
with thanks’. Kittie must be patient, and you must be firm, 
for you are both quite young enough to afford to wait a few 
years. Loving little heart ! She longed to aid you, and 
this was the only method that presented itself. If we can 
secure the commission I mentioned last week, your marriage 
need only be deferred until Kittie is twenty-one. After all, 
Prince, when you bartered your name and became a Bar- 
rington, for sake of this fair heritage, you only accom- 
plished early in life that into which sooner or later all men 
are betrayed, the sale of a birthright for a mess of pottage; 
the clutching at the shadowy present, thereby losing the 
substantial future.” 

“On that score I indulge no regrets. General Barrington 


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was the only father I ever knew, and since it was his wish, 
I shall gladly wear the name with which he endowed me, in 
grateful recognition of the affection, confidence and gen- 
erous kindness he lavished upon me. That the rich legacy 
he designed for me has been diverted into the channel of 
all others most repugnant to him, is my misfortune, not his 
fault; for he took every possible precaution to secure my 
inheritance. Had I been indeed his own son, he could not 
have done more, and I have a son’s right to mourn sin- 
cerely over his cruel and untimely end.” 

The two men sat on the front steps at “Elm Bluff”, and as 
Prince’s eyes wandered over the exceeding beauty of the 
“great greenery” of velvet lawn, the stately, venerable 
growth of forest trees, wearing the adolescent mask of ten- 
der young foliage, the outlying fields flanking the park, the 
sunny acres now awave with crinkling mantles of grain, he 
sighed very heavily at the realization of all that adverse 
fortune had snatched away. 

Blond as Baldur of the Voluspa, with a wealth of golden 
brown beard veiling his lips and chin, he appeared far more 
than six years the junior of the clear cut, smoothly shaven 
face that belonged to his prospective brother-in-law; and 
their countenances contrasted as vividly as tho portraiture 
of bland phlegmatic Norse ^sir, with some bronze image of 
Mercury, as keenly alert as his sacred symbolic cocks. 

Strolling leisurely through the flowery decoying fields, that 
beckon all around the outskirts of the vast, lonely wilderness 
of positive Science, the dewy freshness of the youthful 
amateur still clung to Prince’s garments; even as souvenirs 
gathered by flitting Summer tourists prattle of glimpses of 
wild, towering fastnesses, where strewn bones of martyr 
pioneers whiten as monuments of failure. In the guise of a 
green-kirtled enchantress, with wild poppies and primroses 
wreathed above her starry eyes. Science was luring him 
through the borderland of her kingdom, toward that dark, 
chill, central realm where, transformed as a gnome, she 
clutches her votaries, plunges into the primeval abyss — the 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


327 


matrix of time — and sets them the Egyptian task of weigh- 
ing, analyzing the Titanic “potential” energy, the infinitesi- 
mal atomic engines, the “kinetic” force, the chemical motors, 
the subtle intangible magnetic currents, whereby in the thun- 
dering, hissing, whirling laboratory of Nature, nebulae grow 
into astral and solar systems; the prophetic floral forms of 
crystals become, after disintegration, instinct with organic 
vegetable germs, — and the Sphinx Life — blur-eyed — deaf, 
blind, sets forth on her slow evolutionary journey through 
the wastes of aeons ; mounting finally into that throne of rest 
fore-ordained through groping ages, crowned with the soul 
of Shakspeare, sceptred with the brain of Newton. 

Like a child with some Chinese puzzle far beyond the 
grasp of his smooth, uncreased baby brain. Prince played in 
unfeigned delight with his problem: — “Given the Universe, 
to explain the origin and permanence of Law,” without any 
assistance from the exploded hypothesis of a law maker. 
Equipped with hammer, chisel, microscope, spectroscope and 
crucibles, he essayed the solution, undismayed by memories 
of his classics, of Sisyphus and Tantalus ; seeing only the 
nodding poppies, the gilded primroses of his dancing god- 
dess. 

Will he discover ere long, that a lesser riddle would have 
been to stand in the manufactory of the Faubourg St. Mar- 
cel, and abolishing the pattern of the designers, the direct- 
ing touch of Lebrun, the restraint of the heddle, demand 
that the blind, insensate automatic warp and woof should 
originate, design and trace as well as mechanically execute 
the weaving of the marvellous tapestries ? 

“Prince, I learn from Kittie that you visited the peniten- 
tiary last week.” 

“Yes. I could not resist the curiosity to see the author 
of my recent misfortunes; but I regret the sight. I am 
haunted by the painful recurrence of that blanched, hopeless, 
beautiful face, which reminds me of a pathetic picture I 
saw abroad — Charlotte Corday peering through the bars of 
her dungeon window.” 


328 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


“With a difference surely! Marat’s murderess gloried 
in her crime; an innocent prisoner languishes yonder, in 
that stone cage beyond the river.” 

Mr. Dunbar pointed over the billowing sea of green tree 
tops, toward an irregular dark shadow that blurred the north- 
ern sky line; and his eagle eyes darkened as they discerned 
the prison outlines. 

“Did you ever see a sketch of Rossetti’s ‘Pandora’?” 
asked Prince. 

“No.” 

“The face is somewhat like that young prisoner’s; the 
same mystical, prescient melancholy in the wide eyes, as if 
she realized she was predestine to work woe. I am heartily 
glad I was spared the pain of the prosecution, for had I 
been here, compassion would almost have paralyzed the 
effort to secure justice; and now, while my loss is irrepara- 
ble, the law insures punishment for father’s wrongs. As I 
walk about this dear old place, which he intended I should 
possess, and recall all that we had planned, it seems hard 
indeed that I find myself so unable to execute his wishes. 
After a few days, when I shall leave it, I suppose that for 
the next five years the house will become an owl roost and 
den of bats and spiders. On Thursday I go temporarily 
to Charleston to visit my uncle. Doctor Thornton, who of- 
fers me a place in his office, and a home at his hearthstone.” 

“Why specifically for five years?” 

“That is the term of her imprisonment. At the expira- 
tion of her sentence, I presume Gen. Darrington’s grand- 
daughter will hasten to take possession of her dearly-bought 
domain.” 

A derisive smile unbent the tight lines of the lawyer’s 
mouth. 

“Come here to live? She would sooner spring into the 
jaws of hell!” 

Prince Darrington’s large light eyes opened wide, in a 
questioning stare. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


329 


“If she is innocent, as you believe, why should she shrink 
from occupying the family homestead? If she be guilty, 
which I (having seen her) cannot credit, there is no proba- 
bility that remorseful scruples would influence her. No con- 
ceivable contingency can ever again make it my home, and 
on Thursday I go away forever.” 

“That which a man claims and expects, generally deserts 
and betrays him; it is the unforeseen, the unexpected that 
comes in the form of benediction. Time is the master 
magician, and 'Tout vient a qui sait aftendre\ Kittie may 
yet trail her velvet robe as chatelaine through these noble 
old halls and galleries. Come to my office at ten o’clock to- 
morrow; I may have an answer to my letter to Doctor Bal- 
four.” 

Six months before, Mr. Dunbar had walked down these 
steps, mounted his horse and hurried away to keep tryst 
with the fair, noble woman, whose promised hand was the 
guerdon of ambitious schemes, and years of patient, per- 
sistent wooing. To-day he rode slowly to a parting inter- 
view, which would sever the last link that had so long held 
their lives in tender association. Whatever of regret min- 
gled with the contemplation of his ruined matrimonial cas- 
tle, lay hidden so deep in the debris, that no faintest reflec- 
tion was visible in his inscrutable face. 

When he reached the railway station where a special car 
containing a small party, awaited the arrival of the north 
bound train that would attach it to its sinuous length, a 
number of friends had assembled to say good-bye to the 
departing favorite. The announcement of Miss Gordon’s 
extended yachting trip, had excited much comment in social 
circles, and while people wondered at the prolongation of 
the engagement, none but her immediate family suspected 
that the betrothal had been cancelled. 

Leo’s wonted gracious composure betrayed no hint of the 
truth, and she greeted Mr. Dunbar with outstretched hand 
and a friendly smile. 


330 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


“ I am indebted to your kind courtesy, Lennox, for the 
most auspicious omen at the outset of my long journey ; and 
I shall not attempt to tell you how cordially I appreciate 
your tasteful souvenir. Your roses are exquisite, and 
fragrant as the message they bring me.” 

She glanced up at a large horseshoe made of her favorite 
pink roses, which had been hung by a silver wire directly 
over the seat she occupied. 

“Will you give me your interpretation of their message? ” 

He swept aside a shawl and reticule, and sat down be- 
side her. 

“ It is written legibly all over their lovely petals. You 
wish me a rose-strewn itinerary, all conceivable forms of 
‘ good luck ’ ; as though you stood on tip- toe and shouted 
after me : ^ Gliick auf.* As a happy augury, I accept it. 
Like the old Romans, you have offered up for me a dainty 
sacrifice to propitiate Domiduca — the goddess who grants 
travellers a safe return home.” 

“ Meanwhile I hope you see quite as clearly, that the 
thorns have all been stripped off and set thickly along my 
path? ” 

Her smiling eyes met his steadily, and the brave heart 
showed no quailing. 

“ If I imagine that complimentary inference is written be- 
tween the lines, is it not pardonable to welcome the assu- 
rance that you will sometimes be sharply pricked into 
remembrance of your absent friend? ” 

At this moment, with clanging bells and thundering wheels 
the train swept in, and Leo rose to exchange last greetings 
with numerous friends. Judge Dent and Miss Patty accom- 
panied her as far as New York, and when the car had been 
coupled at the end of the long line, and all was in readiness, 
Mr. Dunbar took his companion’s hand. 

“ When we parted last, I was angry and hasty. Now I 
desire to make one farewell request. You ask a release 
from our engagement. I grant it. I hold you perfectly 
free ; but I will consider myself bound, pledged to you until 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


331 


the expiration of one year. Nothing you can say shall alter 
my determination ; but twelve months hence, if you can 
trust your happiness to my hands, send me this message: 
‘I wear your ring.’ Once more I offer you my letter of 
confession. Will you receive it now; will you look into 
the heart which I have bared for your scrutiny?” 

“No. I voluntarily forfeited that right, when I asked my 
freedom. If your letter contains aught that would change 
my high regard, my confidence, my affectionate interest in 
your happiness, I am doubly anxious to avoid acquaintance 
with its contents. You have long held the first place in my 
esteem, why seek to impair my valuation of your char- 
acter? Let us be friends, now and forever.” 

“Remember you broke your fetters; I hug mine — a year 
longer. Forget me if you will; but Leo, when your heart 
refuses to be strangled, suffer its cry to reach me. What- 
ever the future may decree, you shall always be my noble 
ideal of exalted womanhood, my own proud, sensitive, un- 
selfish Leo; and from the depth of my heart I wish you a 
pleasant tour, and a safe and speedy return.” 

A premonitory thrill shook the car, and dropping the 
fingers that lay cold as marble in his, Mr. Dunbar swung 
himself to the station platform. The train moved off, but he 
knew that it would return in switching, and so he stood hat 
in hand. 

As it slowly glided back, he stepped close to the open 
window, and Leo’s last look at the man she had loved so 
long and well, showed him with the sun shining on his 
superb form, and coldly locked face. He saw her hazel eyes 
dim in their mist of unshed tears, and the sweet, blanched 
lips trembling from the spasm that held her heart. She 
leaned down, laid her hand on his shoulder. 

“Dear Lennox, open your hand carefully; there — ^hold it 
close. Good-bye.” 

Into his palm she dropped something; their faces almost 
touched, eyes met, heart looked into heart; then Leo smiled 
and drew back, lowering her veil, and as the cars shivered. 


332 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


lurched, moved on, Mr. Dunbar put on his hat and unclosed 
his fingers. 

The white fire leaping in the diamonds destroyed the last 
vestige of a betrothal, that he had once regarded as the 
summum honmn of his successful career ; consumed in its 
incipiency the farewell compact, which his regard for Leo’s 
womanly pride, and an honorable desire to cling as closely 
as possible to at least the loyal forms of allegiance, had 
prompted him to impose upon himself. 

Apparently unwounded, she would sail away victrix, with 
gay pennons flying through distant summer seas, while he 
remained, stranded on the reefs of adverse fate, a target for 
cynical society batteries, a victim of the condolence of sym- 
pathizing friends. 

In reality he felt the benignant touch of fortune still upon 
his head, and thanked her heartily that Leo had taken the 
initiative; that no overt act of disloyalty blurred his es- 
cutcheon, and above all, that he had been spared the humilia- 
tion of acknowledging his inability to resist the strange 
fascination that dragged him from his allegiance, as Au- 
roras swing the needle from the pole. He did not attempt 
to underrate the vastness of his loss, nor to condone the 
folly which he designated as “infernal idiocy”; yet con- 
science acquitted him of intentionally betraying the trust a 
noble woman had reposed; and his vanity was appeased by 
the conviction that though Leo had cast him out of her life, 
she went abroad because she loved him supremely. Putting 
the ring in his pocket, he turned away as from a grave that 
had closed forever over that which once held all the promise 
of life. 

Three hours later, that carefully written letter acknowl- 
edging to his fiancee that his heart had rebelliously swung 
from its moorings, under the magnetic strain of another 
woman, and asking her tender forbearance to aid him in 
conquering a weakness for which he blushed, had been re- 
duced to a drab shadow on his office hearth ; and the lawyer 
was engrossed by the preparation of a testamentary docu- 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


333 


ment, which embraced several pages of legal cap. Again 
and again he read it over, pausing now and then as if 
striving to recall some invisible scroll, and at last as if satis- 
fied with the result, placed it in an envelope, thrust it into 
his pocket, and once more mounted his horse. The cease- 
less and intense yearning to see again the young stranger, 
who seemed destined to play the rdle of Ate in so many 
lives, would no longer be denied ; and at a swift gallop he 
took the road leading to the penitentiary. 

Four or five carriages were drawn up in front of the iron 
gate, and when, in answer to the bell, Jarvis, the under- 
warden, came forward to admit Mr. Dunbar, he informed 
him that the State Inspectors were making a tour of in- 
vestigation through the building. 

“I want to see Singleton.” 

“Just now he is engaged showing the inspectors around, 
and they generally turn everything upside down, and inside 
out. If you will step into the office and wait awhile, he will 
be at leisure.” 

“Where is Mrs. Singleton?” 

“She has just gone into the women’s workroom. One of 
the sewing gang is epileptic, and fell in a fit a few minutes 
ago, so I sent for her. Come this way and I wdll find her.” 

The visitor hesitated, drew back. 

“Is Miss Brentano there also?” 

“No. She is still on the infirmary list.” 

Jarvis opened the door of a long, well-lighted but narrow 
room, in the centre of which was a table extending to the 
lower end; and on each side of it sat women busily en- 
gaged in stitching and binding shoes, and finishing off vari- 
ous articles of clothing; while two were ticketing a pile of 
red flannel and blue hickory shirts. Four sewing-machines 
stood near the wall where grated windows admitted sun- 
shine, and their hymn to Labor was the only sound that 
broke the brooding silence. The room was scrupulously 
clean and tidy, and the inmates, wearing the regulation uni- 
form of blue-striped homespun, appeared comparatively 


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neat; but sordid, sullen, repulsively coarse and brutish were 
many of the countenances bent over the daily task, and 
now and then swift, furtive glances from downcast eyes 
betrayed close kinship with lower animals. 

At one of the machines sat a woman whose age could 
not have exceeded twenty-eight years, with a figure of the 
Juno type, and a beautiful dark face where tawny chatoyant 
eyes showed the baleful fire of a leopardess. '• Winding a 
bobbin, she leaned back in her chair, with the indolent, 
haughty grace of a sultana, and when she held the bobbin 
up against the light for an instant, her slender olive hand 
and rounded wrist might have belonged to Cleopatra. 

“Who is that woman winding thread?” 

“Her name is Iva Le Bougeois, but we call her the 
‘Bloody Duchess’. She was sent up here two years ago, 
from one of the lower counties, for wholesale butchery. 
Seems her husband got a divorce, and was on the eve of 
marrying again. She posted herself about the second wed- 
ding, and managed to make her way into the parlor, where 
she hid behind the window curtains. Just as the couple 
stood up to be married, she cut her little boy’s throat with 
a razor, dragged the body in front of the bride, and before 
any one could move, drew a revolver, blew the top of her 
husband’s head off, and then shot herself. The ball passed 
through her shoulder and broke her arm, but as you see, 
she was spared, as many another wildcat has been. Her 
friends and counsel tried to prove insanity, but the plea was 
too thin; so she landed here for a term of twenty years, 
and it will take every day of it to cut her claws. She is as 
hard as flint, and her heart is as black as a wolf’s mouth.” 

“Medea’s wrongs generally end in Medea’s crimes,” an- 
swered the visitor; watching the defiant poise of the small 
shapely head, covered with crisp, raven locks. Having less 
acquaintance with the classics than with the details of prison 
discipline, the under-warden stared. 

After a moment he pointed to a diminutive figure stand- 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


335 


ing at the end of the long table, and engaged in folding some 
white garments. 

“See that pretty little thing, with the yellow head ? 
Shouldn’t you say she looks like an angel, and ought to be 
put on the altar to hear the prayers of sinners ? Would you 
believe she is a mother? Arson is her hobby. She is a 
regular ‘fire-bug’. She was adopted by a German couple, 
and one night, when the old farmer had come home with 
the money paid him for his sheep and hogs, she stole the 
last cent he had, pocketed all the old frail s silver spoons, 
poured kerosene around the floor, set fire to the house in 
several places, locked the door and ran for her life. A 
peddler happened to seek quarters for the night, and finding 
the place on fire, managed to break through the windows 
and save the old folks from being roasted alive. When the 
case came to trial it was proved that she had set fire to 
two other buildings, but on account of her youth had 
escaped prosecution. They could not hang her, though she 
deserved the gallows, and her child was born three months 
after she came here. Looks innocent as a wax doll doesn’t 
she? Eve Werneth she calls herself; and she is well named 
after the original mother of all sin. She is Satan’s own 
imp, and we chain her every night, for she boasts that when 
things grow tiresome to her she always burns her way out. 
I think she is the worst case we have, except the young 
mulatto — I don’t see her here just now — who was sent up for 
life, for poisoning a baby she was hired to nurse. There is 
Mrs. Singleton.” 

The warden’s wife came forward with a vial in one hand, 
and at sight of the visitor, paused and held out the other. 

“ How’dy do, Mr. Dunbar. You are waiting to see Ned? 

“ I much prefer seeing you, if you have leisure for an in- 
terview. Singleton can join us when the inspectors take their 
leave.” 

“ Very well ; come up stairs. Jarvis, send Ned up as soon 
as you can,” 


336 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


She led the way to the room where her two children were 
at play, and breaking a ginger cake between them, dragged 
their toys into one corner, and bade them build block houses, 
without a riot. 

“I have never received even a verbal reply to the note 
which I requested your husband to place in Miss Brentano’s 
hands.” 

“Probably you never will. She took cold by being dragged 
back and forth to court during that freezing weather, and 
two days after her conviction she was taken ill with pneu- 
monia. First one lung, then the other, and the case took 
a typhoid form. For six weeks she could not lift her head, 
and now though she goes about my rooms, and into the 
yard a little, she is awfully shattered, and has a ^bad cough. 
Once when we had scarcely any hope, she asked the doctor 
to give her no more medicine ; said that it would be a mercy 
to let her die. Poor thing! her proud spirit is as broken as 
her body, and the thought of being seen seems to torture 
her. Dyce is the only person whom she allows to come 
near her.” 

“Where is she?” 

“We were obliged to move her, after she was sentenced, 
but the doctor said one of those cells down stairs would be 
certain and quick death for her, with her lungs in such a 
condition ; so we put her in the smallest room on this floor ; 
the last one at the end of the corridor. It is only a closet 
it is true, but it is right in the angle, and has two narrow 
slits of windows, one opening south, the other west, and 
the sunshine gets in. The day after her trial ended, she 
sent for the sheriff, who happened to be here, and asked 
him if solitary confinement was not considered a more 
severe penalty than any other form here? When he told 
her it was, she said: Then it could not be construed into 
clemency or favoritism if you ordered me into solitary con- 
finement ? Certainly not, he told her. Whereupon she 
begged him to allow her to be shut up, away from the 
others, as she would sooner sit in the dark and see no 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


337 


human being, than be forced to associate with the horrible^ 
guilty outcasts down stairs. While he and Ned were con- 
sulting about her case, she was taken very ill. Of course 
you know Ned has a good deal of latitude and discretion 
allowed him, and the doctor is on our side, but even at best, 
the rules are stern. She takes her meals alone, and the 
only place where she meets the other convicts — isn’t it a 
shame to call her one ! — is the chapel ; and even there she 
is separated, because Ned has given her charge of the organ. 
Everybody under sentence is obliged to work, but she does 
not go down into the general sewing room. The super- 
intendent of that department apportions a certain amount of 
sewing, and her share is sent up daily to her. She really 
is not able to work, but begged that we should give her 
some employment.” 

“She consented to see Mr. Prince Barrington?” 

“Oh, no ! It was the merest accident that he succeeded 
in speaking to her. He happened to come the day that I 
took her out for the first time in the garden, for a little 
fresh air in the sunshine; and we met him and Ned on 
the walk. O, Mr. Dunbar ! It was pitiful to see her face, 
when the young man took off his hat, and said: 

“ T am General Barrington’s adopted son.’ 

“She was so weak she had been leaning on me, but she 
threw up her head, and her figure stiffened into steel. ‘You 
imagine that I am the person who robbed you of Gen’l 
Barrington’s fortune? I suffer for crimes I did not commit; 
and am the innocent victim selected to atone for your in- 
juries. My wrongs are more cruel than yours. You merely 
lost lands and money. Can you, by the wildest flight of 
fancy conjecture that aught but disgrace and utter ruin 
remain for me?’ Ned and I walked away; and when we 
came back she had stepped into the hall, and drawn the 
inside door between them. He was standing bareheaded, 
gazing up at her, and she was looking down at him through 
the open iron lattice, as if he were the real culprit. That 
night she had a nervous chill that lasted several hours, and 


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we promised that no one should be allowed to see her. Of 
course the inspectors go everywhere, and when Ned opened 
her door, I was with her, giving her the tonic the Doctor 
ordered three times a day. I had prepared her for their 
visit, but when the gentlemen crowded in, she put her hands 
over her face and hid it on the table. There was not a 
syllable uttered, and they walked out quickly.” 

“Will you do me the kindness to persuade her to see 
me?” 

“I am sure, sir, she will refuse; because she desires most 
especially to be shielded from your visits.” 

“Nevertheless, I intend to see her. Please say that I am 
here, and have brought the papers Mr. Singleton desired me 
to prepare for her.” 

Ten minutes elapsed before the warden’s wife returned, 
shaking her head: 

“She prefers not seeing you, but thanks you for the 
paper which she wishes left with Mr. Singleton. When she 
has read it, Mr. Singleton will probably bring you some 
message. She hopes you will believe that she is very grate- 
ful for your attention to her request.” 

“Go back and tell her that unless she admits me, she shall 
never see the paper, for I distinctly decline to put it in any 
hand but hers; and, moreover, tell her she asked me to 
obtain for her a certain article which, for reasons best 
known to herself, she holds very dear. This is her only 
opportunity to receive it, which must be directly from me. 
Say that this is the last time I will insist upon intruding, 
and after to-day she shall not be allowed the privilege of 
refusing me an audience. I am here solely in her behalf, 
and I am determined to see her now.” 

When Mrs. Singleton came back the second time, she 
appeared unwontedly subdued, perplexed; and her usually 
merry eyes were gravely fixed with curious intentness upon 
the face of her visitor. 

“The room straight ahead of you, with the door partly 
open, at the end of this corridor. She sees you ‘only on 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


339 


condition that this is to be the final annoyance'. Mr. Dun- 
bar, you were born to tyrannize. It seems to me you have 
merely to will a thing, in order to accomplish it.’’ 

“If that were true, do you suppose I would allow her to 
remain one hour in this accursed cage of blood-smeared 
criminals ?" 

Down the dim corridor he walked slowly, as if in no haste 
to finish his errand, stepped into the designated cell, and 
closed the door behind him. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

The apartment eight by twelve feet possessed the redeem- 
ing feature of a high ceiling, and on either side of the 
southwest corner wall, a window only two feet wide allowed 
the afternoon sunshine to print upon the bare floor the 
shadow of longitudinal iron bars fastened into the stone 
sills. A narrow bedstead, merely a low black cot of inter- 
lacing iron straps, stood against the eastern side, and oppo- 
site, a broad shelf, also of iron, ran along the walls and 
held a tin ewer and basin, a few books, and a pile of cloth- 
ing neatly folded. 

Across the angle niche between the windows a wooden 
bench had been drawn; in front of it stood a chair and 

oval table, on which lay some sheets of paper, pen and ink, 

and a great bunch of yellow jasmine, and wild pink azaleas 
that lavishly sprinkled the air with their delicate spicery. 
Pencils, crayons, charcoal and several large squares of card- 
board and drawing-paper were heaped at one end of the 

bench, and beside these sat the occupant of the cell, leaning 

with folded arms on the table in front of her; and holding 
in her lap the vicious, ocelot-eyed yellow cat. 

Against the shimmering glory of Spring sunshine stream- 
ing down upon her, head and throat were outlined like those 


340 


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of haloed martyrs that Mantegna and Sodoma left as im- 
perishable types of patient suffering. 

When the visitor came forward to the table that barred 
nearer approach, she made no attempt to rise, and for a mo- 
ment both were mute. He saw the noble head shorn of its 
splendid coronal of braids, and covered thickly with short, 
waving, bronzed tendrils of silky hair, that held in its 
glistening mesh the reddish lustre of old gold, and the deep 
shadows of time-mellowed mahogany. That most skilful of 
all sculptors, hopeless sorrow, had narrowed to a perfect 
oval the wan face, waxen in its cold purity; and traced 
about the exquisite mouth those sad, patient curves that 
attest suffering which sublimates, that belong alone to the 
beauty of holiness. Eyes unusually large and shadowy now, 
beneath their black fringes, were indescribably eloquent with 
the pathos of a complete, uncomplaining surrender to woes 
that earth could never cure; and the slender wasted fingers, 
in their bloodless semi-transparency, might have belonged 
to some chiselled image of death. Every jot and tittle of 
the degrading external badges of felony had been meted out, 
and instead of the mourning garment she had worn in court, 
her dress to-day was of the coarse dark-blue home-spun 
checked with brown, which constituted the prison uniform of 
female convicts. 

As Mr. Dunbar noted the solemn repose, the pathetic 
grace with which she endured the symbols that emblazoned 
her ignominous doom, a dark red glow suffused his face, 
a flush of shame for the indignity which he had been im- 
potent to avert. 

“Who dared to cut your hair — and thrust that garb upon 
you ? They promised me you should be exempt from brands 
of felony.” 

“When one is beaten with many stripes, a blow more or 
less matters little; is not computed. They kindly tell me 
that illness and the doctor’s commands cost me the loss of 
my hair; and after all, why should I object to the convict 
coiffure? Nothing matters any more.” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


341 


Why not admit at once that, Bernice-like, you freely 
offered up your beautiful hair as love’s sacrifice?” 

He spoke hotly, and an ungovernable rage possessed him 
as he realized that though so near, and apparently so help- 
less, she was yet so immeasurably removed, so utterly inac- 
cessible. Her drooping white lids lifted; she looked steadily 
up at him, and the mournful eyes held no hint of denial. 
He stretched his hand across the table, and all the gnawing 
hunger at his heart leaped into his voice, that trembled 
with entreaty. 

“For God’s sake give me your hand just once, as proof 
that you forgive my share in this cruel, dastardly outrage.” 

“Do not touch me. When we shake hands it must be as 
seal upon a very sacred compact, which you are not yet 
ready to make.” 

She straightened herself, and her hands were removed 
from the table ; fell to stroking the cat lying on her knee. 

“What conditions would you impose upon me?” 

“Sit down, Mr. Dunbar, and let us transact the necessary 
business which alone made this interview possible.” 

With an imperious gesture, befitting some sovereign who 
reluctantly accords audience, she motioned him to the chair, 
and as he seated himself his eyes gleamed ominously. 

“It pleases you to ignore our past relations?” 

“Even so. To-day we meet merely as attorney and client 
to arrange the final quid pro quo. You have brought the 
paper ?” 

“I inferred from your message that you desired as exact 
a copy as memory permitted. Here it is.” 

He took from his pocket a long legal envelope. 

“I believe you stated that your father originally drew up 
this paper, and that recently you altered and re-wrote it?” 

“Those are the facts relative to it.” 

“Can you recall the date of the revision?” 

“Nearly a year ago. Last May it was signed in the pres- 
ence of Doctor Ledyard and Colonel Powell, who also signed 
as witnesses, though ignorant of its contents.” 


342 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


“You offer me this as a correct expression of Gen’l Bar- 
rington’s wishes regarding the distribution of his estate, real 
and personal?” 

“At your request I furnish from memory a copy of Gen’l 
Barrington’s will, which I have faithfully endeavored to re- 
call, and I conscientiously believe this to be strictly accurate. 
Shall I read it?” 

A severe and prolonged fit of coughing delayed her reply; 
and when she held out her hand for the paper, her breath- 
ing was painfully rapid and labored. 

“I will not tax you. Let me glance over it.” 

Spreading the long sheets open before her, she leaned 
over the table and read. 

In the palm of her right hand rested her temple, and the 
left smoothed and turned the leaves. Crossing his arms on 
the top of the table, the attorney bent forward and sur- 
rendered himself to the coveted delight of studying the face, 
that had made summary shipwreck of his matrimonial for- 
tune. No slightest detail escaped him; the burnished locks 
curled loosely around the forehead smooth as a sleeping 
baby’s, the broad arch of the delicately-pencilled black brows, 
the Madonna droop of the lids whose heavy sable fringes 
deepened the bluish shadows beneath the eyes, the straight, 
flawless nose, the perfect chin with its deeply-incised dim- 
ple, the remarkably beautiful mouth, which despairing grief 
had kissed and made its own. 

Pale as marble, the proud, patrician face was pure as 
some bending lily frozen on its graceful, rounded stem; and 
the tapering fingers with daintily curved, polished nails 
would have suited better the lace and velvet of royal robes 
than the rough home-spun sleeves folded back from the 
white wrists. 

Mr. Bunbar had met many lovely, gracious, high-bred 
women, yet escaped heart whole; and even the nobility and 
sweetness of his pretty fiancee, enhanced by the surrounding 
glamour of heiresship, failed to touch the flood gates of 
tender love that a pauper’s hand had suddenly unloosed, to 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


343 


sweep as a destroying torrent through the fair garden of 
his most cherished hopes. What was the spell exerted by 
the young convict when she grappled his heart, and in the 
havoc of her own life carried down all the possibilities of 
his future peace? Personal ambition, calculating mercenary 
selfishness had melted away in the volcanic madness that 
seized him, and to his own soul he acknowledged that his 
dominant and supreme wish was to gather in his arms and 
hold forever the condemned woman, who wore with such 
sublime serenity the livery of felony. 

After all, have we misread our classics? Had not Homer 
a prevision of the faith that Aphrodites’ altar belonged in 
the Temple of the Fates? 

Beryl refolded the paper and looked up. In the face so 
close to hers, she saw all the yearning tenderness, the over- 
mastering love that had convulsed his nature, and before the 
pleading magnetic eyes that essayed to probe her soul, hers 
fell. 

As out of a cloud, some burst of sunlight striking through 
the ruby vestments of apostles in a cathedral window falls 
aslant and suddenly crimsons the marble features of a sculp- 
tured angel guarding the high altar, so unexpectedly a vivid 
blush dyed the girl’s cheeks. Pier lips trembled; she swept 
her hand across her eyes as though blotting out some fas- 
cination upon which it was not her privilege to dwell; then 
the glow faded, she moved back on the bench, and leaned 
her head against the wall. 

“Where are the bonds and other securities described in 
this paper?” 

“In a compartment of the safety deposit vault of the 

Bank, of which Gen’l Barrington was a large stockholder 
and director. His box was opened last week in presence of 
his adopted son, and we hoped to find perhaps a duplicate 
of the lost will; but there was not even a memorandum to 
indicate his last wishes.” 

“Can you tell me whether Mr. Prince Barrington will 


344 


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take any legal steps to recover the legacy which the loss of 
the will appears to have cancelled?” 

“He certainly has no such intention ” 

“Are you quite sure of his views?” 

“Absolutely sure, having talked with him this morning. I 
speak authoritatively.” 

“He was entirely dependent on Gen’l Barrington?” 

“Wholly so with regard to pecuniary resources.” 

“At present he is as much a beggar as I was that day 

when I first saw X ? Is it true that want of money 

obliged him to quit Germany before he obtained the uni- 
versity degree, for which his studies were intended to fit 
him ?” 

“Strictly true. He sorely laments his inability to complete 
the course of study, and hopes at some future day to return 
and reap the distinction which he feels sure awaits him in 
scientific fields.” 

A brief silence followed, and the girl’s thoughts seemed 
to drift far from her gloomy surroundings to some lofty 
plane of peace beyond the ills of time. Once more a spasm 
of coughing seized her; then she looked at the attorney. 

“I learned in court that the destruction of Gen’l Bar- 
rington’s Vv^ill would secure to my mother the possession of 
all his estate. She has entered into Rest; into possession of 
her heritage in Christ’s kingdom. Am I, her child, the 
lawful heir of Gen’l Barrington’s fortune? Are there any 
legal quibbles that could affect my rights?” 

“I am aware of none. The estate is certainly yours, and 
the law will sustain your claims.” 

“Claim? I only claim the right to repair as far as pos- 
sible a wrong for which I suffer, yet am not responsible. I 
sent for a copy of the will because — ” 

“May I tell you why? Because in order to execute its 
provisions, it was essential that you should know them ac- 
curately.” 

The assurance that he interpreted so correctly her motive. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


345 

brought a quick throb to her tired heart, and a faint flush 
of pleasure to her thin cheeks. 

“Had you read as accurately my intentions, six months 
ago, when you woke me from my sleep under the pine trees, 
how different the current of many lives ! Mr. Dunbar, my 
ignorance of legal forms constrains me to accept your assist- 
ance in a matter which I am unwilling to delay — ” She 
hesitated, and he smiled bitterly. 

“You need be at no trouble to emphasize your reluctance. 
I quite understand your ineradicable repugnance. Never- 
theless good luck ordains that only I can serve you at pres- 
ent, so be pleased to command me.” 

“Thank you. I wish you to help me make my will.” 

“Why?” 

“How long do you suppose I can endure this ‘death in 
life?’ I am patient because I hope and believe my release is 
not far distant. Galloping consumption is a short avenue 
to freedom.” 

He caught his breath, and the blood ebbed from his lips, 
but he hurled aside the suggestion as though it were a 
coiled viper. 

“Life has for you one charm which will successfully hold 
death at bay. Love has sustained you thus far; it will lend 
wings to the years that must ultimately bring the recom- 
pense for which you long, the sight of him whose crime you 
expiate.” 

He could not understand the peculiar smile that parted 
her lips, nor the far-away, preoccupied expression that crept 
into her sad eyes. 

“Nevertheless I have decided to make my will. I desire 
that in every detail it shall duplicate the provisions of the 
instrument I am punished for having stolen and destroyed; 
and I charge you to write it so carefully, that when all the 
legacies shall have been paid, the residue of the estate can- 
not fail to reach the hands of the son for whom it was 
intended. To Mr. Prince Darrington I give and bequeath. 


346 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


mark you now, all my right and title to the fortune left by 
Gen’l Barrington.” 

“Before I pledge myself to execute this commission, I 
wish you to know that of such testamentary disposition of 
your estate, I should become remotely a beneficiary. Mr. 
Barrington has asked my only sister to be his wife, and their 
marriage is contingent merely on his financial ability to 
maintain her comfortably. Mine is scarcely the proper hand 
to pour the rich stream of your possessions into his empty 
coffers.” 

“I am well aware of the tie that binds your sister and 
Mr. Barrington.” 

“Since when have you known it?” 

“No prison walls are sufficiently thick to turn the stream 
of gossip; it trickles, oozes through all barriers. Exactly 
when or how I became acquainted with your family secret 
is not germane to the subject under consideration.” 

“Cognizant of the fact that Gen’l Barrington’s adopted 
son was my prospective brother-in-law, you have paid me 
the compliment of believing that selfish, pecuniary motives 
incited my zeal in securing your prosecution, for the loss of 
the fortune I coveted? Your heart garners that insult to 
me ?” 

The only storm signal that defied his habitual control, 
was the intense glow in his eyes where an electric spark 
rayed out through the blue depths. 

“I might tell you, that my heart is a sepulchre too crowded 
with dead hopes to hold resentment against their slayer ; but 
you have a right to something more. I pay you the just 
tribute of grateful admiration for the unselfish heroism that 
prompted you to plead so eloquently in defence of a forsaken 
woman who, living or dead, defrauded your sister of a 
brilliant fortune. You fought courageously to save me, and 
I am quite willing you should know that it is partly due 
to my recognition of your bravery in leading that forlorn 
hope, that I am anxious by immediate reparation to restore 
matters to their original status. Life is so uncertain I can 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


347 


leave nothing to chance; and when my will is signed and 
sealed, and in 'your possession, I shall know that even if 
I should be suddenly set free, Mr. Barrington and your 
sister will enjoy their heritage. When you will have drawn 
up the paper send it to Mr. Singleton. I will sign it in 
his presence and that of the doctor, which will suffice for 
witnesses.” 

“In view of the peculiar provisions of the will, I prefer 
you should employ some other instrument for its prepara- 
tion. Judge Dent, Churchill or Wolverton, will gladly serve 
you, and I will send to you whomsoever you select. I de- 
cline to become the medium of transferring the accursed 
money that cost you so dearly, to the man whom my sister 
expects to marry.” 

“As you will; only let there be no delay. Ask Judge Dent 
to prove his friendship for Gen’l Barrington by enabling me 
to execute his wishes.” 

“Judge Dent went this morning to New York; but by the 
latter part of the week you may expect the paper for sig- 
nature.” 

“That relieves one anxiety, for while I was so ill I was 
tortured by the thought that I could not make just restitu- 
tion to innocent sufferers. Mr. Dunbar, a yet graver appre- 
hension now oppresses me. If I should live, how can I put 
the rightful owners in immediate possession? What process 
does the law prescribe for conveying the property directly 
to Mr. Barrington?” 

“Ordinarily the execution of a deed of gift from you to 
him, would accomplish that object.” 

“Will you please write out the proper form on the paper 
in front of you?” 

“I certainly will not.” 

“May I know why?” 

“For two reasons. Personally, the deed of gift would 
embarrass me even more than the will. Professionally, it 
occurs to me you are not of age; hence the transfer would 
be invalid at present. Pardon me, how old are you?” 


,348 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


“I was eighteen on the fourth of July last. Grim sarcasm 
is it not, that the child of Independence Day should be 
locked up in a dungeon?” 

“The law of the State requires the age of twenty-one 
years to insure the validity of such a transaction as that 
which you contemplate.” 

“Do you mean that my hands are tied ; that if I should 
live, I can do nothing for more than two years?” 

“Such is the law.” 

“Then the justice that fled from criminal law, steers 
equally clear of the civil code? What curious paradoxes, 
what subtleties of finesse lurk in those fine meshes of juris- 
prudence, ingeniously spread to succor wary guilt, to tangle 
and trip the careless feet of innocence! All the world 
knows that the dearest wish that warmed General Darring- 
ton’s heart was to disinherit and repudiate his daughter, and 
to secure his worldly goods to his adopted son; and yet be- 
cause a sheet of paper expressing that desire could not be 
produced in court, the will of the dead is defied, and the 
fortune is thrust into the hated hands which its owner swore 
should never touch it; hands that the law says murdered 
in order to steal. When the child of the disowned and 
repudiated, holding sacred the unfortunate man’s wishes, 
refuses to accept the blood-bought heritage, and attempts to 
replace the fatal legacy in the possession of those for whom 
it was notoriously intended — this Tartufe of justice strides 
forward and forbids righteous restitution; postpones the 
rendering of ‘Csesar’s things to Caesar’ for two years, in 
order to save the condemned the additional pang of regret- 
ting the generosity of her minority! Human wills, inten- 
tions and aims, no matter how laudable and well known, are 
blandly strangled by judicial red tape, and laid away with 
pompous ceremonial in the dusty catacombs of legal form. 
Grimly grotesque, this masquerade of equity! Something 
must be done for Mr. Darrington, to enable him to finish 
his studies and embark on the career his father designed.” 

“He is a man, and can learn to carve his way unaided.” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


349 


She sighed wearily, and a troubled look crossed her face; 
while the visitor followed with longing eyes the slow mo- 
tion of her delicate hand, beautiful as Herses’, that softly 
stroked the cat purring against her shoulder. 

“Surely there is an outlet to this snare. You could help 
me if you would.’" 

“I? Do you imagine that after all the injuries I have 
inflicted on you, I can consent to help you beggar your- 
self?” 

“You know that I would sooner handle red-hot plough- 
shares, than touch a dollar, a cent, of that fortune. It would 
greatly relieve my mind, and comfort me, if you would indi- 
cate some method by which I can convey to Mr. Barrington 
that Vvhich really belongs to him. Unless he can enjoy it, it 
might as well be in the grave now with its former owner. 
Do help me.” 

The pathetic pleading of face and voice almost unnerved 
him, but he sat silent. 

“Cannot I dispose at least of the income or interest? If 
a definite amount should be allowed me each year, during 
my minority, could I do as I please with that sum?” 

“Certainly you have that right. I may as well tell you, 
there is one method of accomplishing your aim, by applying 
to the Legislature to legalize your acts by declaring you of 
age. At present the estate is in the hands of Mr. Wolver- 
ton, whom the Probate Court has appointed administrator; 
and at the expiration of eighteen months from the date of 
Gen’l Barrington’s death, the control of the whole will de- 
volve to some extent upon you. Meanwhile the adminis- 
trator will allow you annually a reasonable amount.” 

“Do you know what sum Mr. Barrington required while 
abroad ?” 

“I am told his allowance was four thousand dollars per 
annum. Histology, morphology, and aetiology are whims too 
costly for impecunious students. Prince must reduce his 
stable of hobbies.” 


350 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


“No, he is entitled to canter as many as he likes, and' 
the money could not be better spent than in promoting the 
noble work of the advancement of Science. The problem is 
solved, and my earthly cares are at an end. Leave the copy 
you brought, and ask Mr. Wolverton to see me to-morrow. 
He shall write both the will and the deed of gift, which you 
think can be made valid, and meanwhile the annual allow- 
ance must be paid as formerly to the son. Whether I live 
or die, the wishes of the dead will be respected, and Prince 
Barrington shall have his own. It is an intense relief to 
know that two innocent and happy lives will never feel the 
fatal chill of my shadow; and when your sister enters ‘Elm 
Bluff’ as its mistress, the balance-sheet will be complete.” 

As if some dreaded task had been finally accomplished, 
she drew a deep sigh of weariness that was cut short by a 
spell of coughing. 

“There is a Scriptural injunction concerning kindness to 
enemies, which amounts to heaping coals of fire on their 
heads; and to my unregenerate nature, it savors more of 
subtile inquisitorial cruelty, than of Christian charity.” 

“Your sister is not my enemy, I hope, and need I so rank 
your sister’s brother? There is one thing more, which even 
your sarcasm shall not prevent.” 

She drew from beneath the cardboard a paper box, placed 
it on the table and removed the lid. 

“I presume the Sheriff meant kindly when he sent me 
this as my property, which having testified to suit the prose- 
cution, was returned to the burglar in whose possession it 
was found. The sight of it was as humiliating as a blow 
on the cheek. Some gifts are fatal; nevertheless, you must 
ascribe no sinister motive to me, when I fulfil that injunc- 
tion of Gen’l Barrington’s last Will and Testament, which 
set apart these sapphires foi his son’s bride. They are just 
as I received them from his hands. My mother, for whom 
they were intended, never saw them; I thank God that she 
wears the eternal jewels that He provides for the faithful 
and the pure in heart. I wish you to deliver this case, and 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


351 

the gold pieces, one hundred dollars, to Mr. Barrington ; and 
it will be a mei^cy to rid me of torturing reminders.” 

She looked at the azure flame leaping from the superb 
stones, and pushed the box away with a gesture of loathing. 

“Beautifully blue as those weird nebulae in the far, far 
South ; that brood over the ocean wastes where cyclones are 
born; but to me and to mine, the baleful medium of an 
inherited curse. Having accomplished my doom, may they 
bring only benison to your sister.” 

“I would see adders fastened in her ears and twined 
around her neck sooner than those — ” 

“At least take them out of my sight; give them to Mr. 
Barrington. They are maddening reminders of a perished 
past. Now, to the last iota, I have made all possible restitu- 
tion, and the account is squared; for in exchange for that 
life, which I am condemned as having taken, my own is 
the forfeit. The expiation is complete.” 

She seemed to have forgotten his presence, as her gaze 
rested on the ring she wore, and a happy smile momentarily 
glorified the pale face. 

“Beryl !—” 

She started, winced, shivered; and threw up her hand 
with the haughty denial he so well remembered. 

“Hush ! Only my precious dead ever called me so. You 
must not dare!” 

Something she read in the face that leaned toward her, 
filled her with vague dread, and despite her efforts, she 
trembled visibly. 

“Mr. Bunbar, I am very weary; tired — oh! how tired, 
body and soul.” 

“You dismiss me? Recollect I was warned that this would 
be the last interview accorded me, and I beg your indul- 
gence. If you knew all, if you could imagine one-half the 
sorrow you have caused me, you would consider our ac- 
counts as satisfactorily balanced as your settlement with the 
Barringtons. Whether you have ruined my life, or are 
destined to purify and exalt it, remains to be determined. 


352 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


To see you as you are, is almost beyond my powers of 
endurance, and for my own sake — mark you — to ease my 
own heart, I shall redouble my efforts to have you liberated. 
There is one speedy process, the discovery of the man whom, 
thus far, you have shielded so effectually; and next week 
I begin the hunt in earnest by going West.” 

He saw her fingers clutch each other, and the artery in 
her throat throb quickly. 

“How many victims are required to appease the manes 
of Gen’l Barrington? Be satisfied with having sacrificed 
me, and waste no more time in search that can bring neither 
recompense to you, nor consolation feo me. If I can bear 
my fate, you, sir, have no right to interfere.” 

“Then, like the selfish man I am, I usurp the right. What 
damnable infatuation can bind you to that miserable pol- 
troon, who skulks in safety, knowing that the penalty of his 
evil deeds falls on you? One explanation has suggested 
itself: it haunts me like a fiend, and only you can exorcise 
it. Are you married to that brute, and is it loyalty that 
nerves you? For God’s sake do not trifle, tell me the 
truth.” 

He leaned across the table, caught her hands. She shook 
off his touch, and her eyes were ablaze. 

“Are you insane? How dare you cherish such a sus- 
picion? The bare conjecture is an insult, and you must 
know it is false. Married? I?” 

“Forgive me if I wound you, but indeed I could conceive 
of no other solution of the mystery of your self-sacrifice ; for 
it is utterly incredible that unless some indissoluble tie 
bound you, that cowardly knave could command your al- 
legiance. It maddens me to think that you, so far beyond 
all other women, can tolerate the thought of that — ” 

“Hush! hush! You conjure phantoms with which to taunt 
and torture. You pity me so keenly, that your judgment 
becomes distorted, and you chase chimeras. Banish im- 
aginary husbands. Western journeys, even the thought of 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


353 


my wretched doom, and try henceforth to forget that I ever 
saw X 

“What does this mean? It was not on your hand when 
I held it so long that day — in my own. Tell me, and quiet 
my pain.” 

He pointed to the heavy ring, which was much too large 
for the wasted finger where it glistened. 

“What does it mean ? A tale of woe. It means that when 
my broken-hearted mother was dying among strangers, in 
a hospital, she kissed her wedding ring, and sent it with 
her love and blessing to the child — she idolized. It means — ” 
She held up her waxen hand, and into her voice stole im- 
measurable tenderness: “Shall I tell you all it means? This 
little gold hoop inscribed inside T. B. to E. D.,’ girdles all 
that this world has left for me ; memories of father, mother, 
sunny childhood in a peaceful home, lofty ambitions, happy, 
happy beautiful hopes that once belonged to the girl Beryl, 
whom pitiless calamity has broken on her cruel wheel. 
Walled up, dying slowly in a convict’s tomb, the only light 
that shines into my desolate heart, flickers through this little 
circle ; and clasping it close through the long, long nights, 
when horrible images brood like vampires, it soothes me, 
like the touch of the dear hand which it graced so long, and 
brings me dreams of the fair, sweet past.” 

Was it the mist in his eyes that showed her almost glori- 
fied by the level rays of the setting sun, as like a tired child 
she leaned her head against the wall, a pale image of resig- 
nation ? 

To lose her was a conjecture so fraught with pain, that 
his swart face blanched, and his voice quivered under its 
weight of tender entreaty. 

“What is it that sustains you in your frightful martyr- 
dom? Why do you endure these horrors which might be 
abolished? You hurl me back upon the loathsome thought 
that love, love for a depraved, brutal wretch is the secret 
that baffles me. I might be able to see you die, to lay you, 
stainless snowdrop that you are, in the coffin that would 


354 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


keep you sacred forever; but please God! I will never en- 
dure the pain of seeing you leave these sheltering walls to 
walk into that man’s arms. I swear to you by all I hold 
most precious, that if he be yet alive, I will hand him over 
to retribution.” 

He had pushed aside the table, and stood before her, with 
the one wholly absorbing love of his life glowing in his 
face. She dared not meet the gaze that thrilled her with an 
exquisite happiness, and involuntarily rose. Had she not 
strangled the impulse, her fluttering heart would have 
prompted her to lean forward, rest her head against his 
arm, and tell him all; but close as they stood, and realizing 
that she reigned supreme in his affection, one seemed to 
rise reproachfully between them; that generous, gentle 
woman to whom his faith was pledged. No matter at what 
cost, she must guard Leo’s peace of mind; and to dispel his 
jealous illusion now, would speedily overwhelm the totter- 
ing fabric of his allegiance. Folding her arms tightly across 
her breast, she answered proudly : 

“So be it then. Do your worst.” 

“You admit it!” 

“I admit nothing.” 

“You defy me?” 

“Defy? It seems I am always at the mercy of Tiberius.” 

“Can you look at me, and deny that you are screening 
your lover?” 

She quickly lifted her head, with a peculiar haughty move- 
ment that reminded him of a desperate stag at bay, and he 
never forgot the expression of her eyes. 

“I deny that Miss Gordon’s accepted lover has any right 
to catechise me concerning a subject which, were his sus- 
picions correct, should invest it with a sanctity inviolable 
by wanton curiosity.” 

He recoiled slightly as from a lash. 

“Miss Gordon is on the eve of sailing through the sunny 
isles of Greece ; and while she is absent I purpose finding 
my nepenthe in my hunt for murderers among Montana 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


355 


wilds. You have defied me, and I will do my worst, nay, 
my very best to catch and hang that cowardly rogue who 
adroitly used your handkerchief as the instrument to aid his 
crime.” 

She walked a few steps, putting once more between them 
the table, against which she leaned. 

“If you are successful, and the mystery of that awful mur- 
der should be unravelled, you will then comprehend some- 
thing of the desperation that makes me endure even this 
crucifixion of soul; and in that day, when you discover the 
fugitive lover, you will blush for the taunts aimed at a de- 
fenceless and sorely-stricken woman.” 

“Nevertheless, I bend my energies henceforth to his cap- 
ture and punishment.” 

“Because he is my lover? Or because he may be a crim- 
inal ? Ask that question of your honor. Answer it to your 
own conscience, and to the noble heart of the trusting woman 
you asked to become your wife. Mr. Dunbar, you must 
leave me now; my strength is almost spent.” 

Baffled, exasperated, he approached the table and took 
something from his vest-pocket. 

“I hold my honor flawless, and with the sanction of my 
conscience I prefer to answer to you — you alone — ^because 
he is your lover, I will have his life.” 

She smiled, and her eyes drooped; but there was strange 
emphasis in her words as she clasped her hands : 

“God keep my lover now and forever. Mr. Dunbar, when 
you discover him, I have no fear that you will harm one 
hair in his dear head.” 

“If you knew all you have cost me, you might under- 
stand why I will never forego my compensation. I bide my 
time; but I shall win. You asked me, as a special favor, to 
preserve and secure for you something which you held very 
valuable. Because no wish of yours can ever be forgotten, 
I have complied with your request and brought you this 
‘precious souvenir’ of a tender past.” 

He tore away the paper wrapping, and held toward her 


3S6 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


the meerschaum pipe, then dropped it on the table as though 
it burned his fingers. 

At sight of it, a sudden faintness made the girl reel, and 
she put her hand to her throat, as if to loosen a throttling 
touch. Her eyes filled, and in a whirling mist she seemed 
to see the beloved face of the father long dead, of the gay, 
beautiful young brother who had wrought her ruin. Weak- 
ness overpowered her, and sinking to her knees, she drew 
the pipe closer, laid it against her cheek, folded her arms 
over it on the table and bowed her head. 

What a host of mocking phantoms leaped through the 
portals of the Bygone — babbling of the glorious golden 
dawn that was whitening into a radiant morning, when the 
day-star fell back below the horizon, and night devoured the 
new-born day. Memory comes, sometimes, in the guise of 
an angel, wearing fragrant chaplets, singing us the perfect 
harmonies of a hallowed past; but oftener still, as a fury 
scourging with serpents; and always over her shoulder peers 
the wan face and pitying eyes of a divine Regret. 

The sun had gone down behind the dense pine forest 
stretching beyond the prison, but the sky was a vast shifting 
flame of waning rose and deepening scarlet, and the glow 
from the West still defied the shadows gathering in the cell. 
Beryl was so still, that Mr. Dunbar feared she had fainted 
from exhaustion. 

He stepped to her side, and laid his hand on the bronzed 
head, smoothing caressingly yet reverently the short, silky 
hair. Ah, the unfathomable tenderness with which he bent 
over the only woman he ever loved; the intolerable pain of 
the thought that after all he might lose her. He heard 
the shuddering sob that broke from her overtaxed and ach- 
ing heart, and despite his jealous rage he felt unmanned. 
When she raised her face, tears hung on her lashes. 

“I will thank you, Mr. Dunbar, as long as I live, for 
this last and greatest kindness. If I could tell you what 
this precious relic represents to me, oh, if you knew ! you 
would pity me indeed.” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


357 


“Tell me. Trust me. God knows I would never betray 
your confidence, no matter what it cost me.’" 

It was a powerful temptation to divulge the truth, and 
her heart whispered that Bertie’s safety would be secured 
by removing all jealous incentive to his pursuit; but she 
remembered the fair, sweet, heroic woman who had dared 
her nance' s wrath in order to unbar those prison doors; 
who had faithfully and delicately thrown over the convict 
the mantle of her friendship; and the loyal soul of the pris- 
oner strangled its weakness. 

Perishing in the desert where scorching sands stifled her, 
she had surrendered to death, when love sprang to her side, 
lifted her into the heavenly peace of dewy palms, and held 
to parched lips the sparkling draught a glimpse of which 
electrified her. Would starvation entitle her to drink? Over 
the head of pleading love stretched the arm of stony-eyed 
duty, striking into the dust the crystal drops, withering the 
palms; and following her stern beckon, the thirsty pilgrim 
re-trod the sands of surrender, more intolerable than before, 
because the oasis was still in sight. Duty ! Rugged incor- 
ruptible Spartan dame, whose inflexible mandate is ever : 
“With your shield, or on it.” 

Beryl put up her hand, drew his from her head to her 
lips, kissed it softly. 

“Good-bye, Mr. Dunbar. I promise you one thing. If 
I find I cannot live, I will send for you. Upon the border 
of the grave I will open my heart. You shall see all; and 
then you will understand, and deliver a message which I 
must leave in your hands. Give my grateful remembrance 
to Miss Gordon. Make her happy; and ask her to pray for 
me, that I may be patient. Now leave me, for I can bear 
no more.” 

She put aside his hand, and hid her face once more. He 
stooped, laid his lips on the shining hair, and walked away. 
At the door he paused. The long corridor was very dim 
and gloomy, and the deep-toned bell in the tower was ring- 
ing slowly. Looking back into the cell, he saw that Beryl 


358 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


had risen, and against the sullen red glow on the western 
window, her face and figure outlined a silhouette of hope- 
less desolation. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

Each human soul is dowered with an inherent adapta- 
bility to its environment, with an innate energy which prop- 
erly directed, grapples successfully with all assailing ills; 
and Time, the tireless reconciler, flies always low at our 
side, hardening the fibre of endurance, stealthily administer- 
ing that supreme and infallible anaesthetic whereby the tor- 
turing throes of human woe are surely stilled. Existence 
involves strife; mental and moral growth depend upon the 
vigor with which it is waged, and scorning cowardice, Na- 
ture provides the weapons essential to victory. The evils 
that afflict humanity are meted out with a marvellously ac- 
curate reference to the idiosyncrasies of character; and no 
weight is imposed which cannot by heroic eftort be sus- 
tained. The Socratic belief that if all misfortunes were 
laid in a heap, whence every man and woman must draw 
an equal portion, each would select the burden temporarily 
laid down and walk away comforted, was merely an adum- 
bration of the sublimer truth, “As thy day, so shall thy 
strength be.” 

Very slowly physical health and spiritual patience came 
back to Beryl; but by degrees she bravely lifted the stained 
and mutilated wreck of life, and staggered on her lonely 
way, finding that repose which means the death of hope. 

At one time death had smilingly pushed ajar the door 
that opened into eternal peace, and beckoned her bruised 
soul to follow; then mockingly barred escape, and left her 
to renew the battle. From that double window in the sec- 
ond story of the prison, she watched the silver of full 
moons shining on the spectral white columns that crowned 
“Elm Bluff”, the fire of setting suns that blazed ruby-red 


^AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


359 


as Gubbio wine, along the line of casements that pierced the 
front facade, a bristling perpetual reminder of the tragedy 
that cried to heaven for vengeance. She learned exactly 
where to expect the first glimpse of the slender opal cres- 
cent in the primrose west; followed its waxing brilliance as 
it sailed out of the green bights of the pine forest, its waning 
pallor, amid the sparkling splendor of planets that lit the 
far east. 

As the constellations trod the mazes of their stately minuet 
across the distant field of blue, their outlines grew familiar 
as human countenances; and from the darkness of her cell 
she turned to the great golden stars throbbing in midnight 
skies, peering in through the iron bars like pitying eyes of 
heavenly guardians. Locked away from human companion- 
ship, and grateful for the isolation of her narrow cell, the 
lonely woman found tender compensation in the kindly 
embrace of Nature’s arms, drawn closely about her. 

The procession of the seasons became to her the advent 
of so many angels, who leaned in at her window and taught 
her the secret of floral runes ; the mysterious gamut of bird 
melodies, the shrill and weird dithyrambics of the insect 
world; the recitative and andante and scherzo of wind and 
rain, of hail and sleet, in storm symphonies. 

The Angel of Spring, with the snow of dogwood, and the 
faint pink of apple blossoms on her dimpling cheeks; with 
violet censers swinging incense before her crocus-sandalled 
feet, and the bleating of young lambs that nestled in her 
warm arms. 

The Angel of Summer, full blown as the red roses flaunt- 
ing amid the golden grain and amber silk tassels that gar- 
landed her sunny brow ; poised languorously on the glittering 
apex of salmon clouds at whose base lightning flickered and 
thunder growled, — watching through drowsy half shut lids 
the speckled broods of partridges scurrying with frantic 
haste through the wild poppies of ripe wheat fields, the 
brown covey of shy doves ambushed among purple morning 
glories swinging in the dense shade of rustling corn; list- 


360 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


ening as in a dream to the laughter of reapers, whetting 
scythes in the blistering glare of meadow slopes, yet hearing 
all the while, the low, sweet babble of the slender stream that 
trickled through pine roots, down the hillside, and added 
its silvery tinkle to the lullaby crooned by the river to its 
fringe of willows, its sleeping lily pads. 

The Angel of Autumn, radiant through her crystal veil 
of falling rain, as with caressing touches she deepened the 
crimson on orchard treasures, mellowed the heart of vine- 
yard clusters, painted the leaves with hectic glory that 
reconciled to their approaching fall, smiled on the chest- 
nuts that burst their burrs to greet her, whispered to the 
squirrels that the banquet was ready; kissed into starry 
bloom blue asters crowding about her knees, and left the 
scarlet of her lips on the kingdom of berries ordained to 
flush the forest aisles, where wolfish winds howled, when 
leaves had rustled down to die, and verdure was no more. 

The Angel of Winter, a sad, mute image, wan as her 
robes of snow, stretching white wings to shelter perishing 
birds huddled on the cold pall that covered a numb world, — 
crowned with icicles that clasped her silver locks, shedding 
tears that froze upon her marble cheeks; standing on the 
universal grave where Nature lay bound in cerements, 
hearkening to the dismal hooting of the owl at her feet, 
the sharp insistent cry of gray killdees hovering above icy 
marshes, the wailing tempest dirge over the dead earth ; and 
while with one benignant hand she tenderly folded her man- 
tle about the sleepers, the other kindled a conflagration 
along the western sky, that reddened and warmed even the 
wastes of snow, and when she beckoned, the attendant stars 
seemed to circle closer and closer, burning with an added 
lustre that made night glorious. Answering her call, the 
Auroral arch sprang out of the North, spanning the sky 
with waving banners of orange and violet flame, that il- 
lumined the Niobe of the Seasons, as she hovered with out- 
stretched glittering pinions, and mournful ice-dimmed eyes 
above her shrouded dead children. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


361 


With returning health, had come to Beryl activity of those 
artistic instincts, which for a time, had slumbered in the 
torpor of despair; and when her daily task of work had 
been accomplished, the prisoner leaned with folded arms on 
the stone ledge of the window, and studied every changing 
aspect of earth and atmosphere. By degrees the old am- 
bition stirred, and she began to sketch the slow panorama 
of July clouds, built of mist and foam into the likeness of 
domes of burnished copper, and campaniles of silver; the 
opaque mountain masses, stratified along the horizon, leaden 
in hue, with sullen bluish gorges where ravening January 
winds made their lair; the intricate, graceful tracery of 
gnarled bare boughs and interlacing twigs, that would serve 
as a framework when May hung up her green portieres to 
screen the down-lined boudoirs where happy birds nestled; 
the gray stone arches of the bridge in the valley below, the 
groups of cattle couched on the rocky hillside, up which the 
pine forest marched like ranks of giants. 

On sultry afternoons she watched lengthening tree-shad- 
ows creep across the reddish-brown carpeting of straw, and 
in the long nights when sleeplessness betrayed her into the 
clutches of torturing retrospection, she waited and longed 
for the pearly lustre that paved the east for the rosy feet 
of dawn; listened to the beating of Nature’s heart in the 
solemn roar of the Falls two miles away, in the strophe 
and anti-strophe of winds quivering through pine tops, the 
startled cry of birds dozing in cedar thickets, the shrill 
droning of crickets, the monotonous recrimination of katy- 
dids, the peculiar, querulous call of a family of flying squir- 
rels housed in the cleft of an old magnolia, the Gregorian 
chant of frogs cradled in the sedge and ferns, where the 
river lapped and gurgled. 

Humanity had turned its back upon her; but the sinless 
world of creation, with all its glorious chords of beautiful 
color, and the soothing witchery of the solemn voices of 
the night, ministered abundantly to eye and ear. She had 
hoped and prayed to die ; God denied her petition ; and sent, 


362 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


instead of His Angel of Death, two to comfort her, the 
Angel of Health and the Angel of Resignation ; whereby she 
understood, that she had not yet earned surcease from suf- 
fering, but was needed for future work in the Master’s 
vineyard. 

If live she must, through the five years of piacular sacri- 
fice, why vitiate its efficacy by rebellious repining, that 
seemed an affront to the divine arbiter of human destinies? 
She could not escape the cross ; and bitterness of heart might 
jeopardize the crown. Beggared by time, could she afford to 
risk the eternal heritage? The deepest conviction of her 
soul was, “Behind fate, stands God”; hidden for a season, 
deaf and blind and mute, it seemed, but always surely there ; 
waiting His own appointed season of rescue, and of recom- 
pense. So strong was her faith in His overruling wisdom 
and mercy, that her soul found rest, through perpetual 
prayer for patience; and as weeks slipped into months, and 
season followed season, she realized that though no roses of 
happiness could ever bloom along her arid path, the lilies 
of peace kissed her tired feet. 

Somewhere in the wicked world, Bertie was astray; and 
perhaps God has kept her alive, intending she should fulfil 
her mission years hence, by bringing him out of the snares 
of temptation, back into the fold of Christ’s redeemed. Five 
years of penal servitude to ransom his soul; was the price 
exorbitant ? 

One dull, wintry afternoon as she pressed close to the 
window, to catch the fading light on the page of her Bible, 
it chanced to be the chapter in St. Luke, which contained 
the parable of the Pharisee and the Publican; and while 
she read, a great compunction smote her ; a remorseful sense 
of having scorned as utterly unclean and debased, her suf- 
fering fellow prisoners. 

Was there no work to be done for the dear Master, in 
that moral lazaretto — ^the long rows of cells down stairs, 
where some had been consigned for ‘ninety-nine years’ ? 
Hitherto, she had shrunk from contact, as from leprous con- 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


363 


tagion; meeting the Penitentiary inmates only in the chapel 
where, since her restoration to health, she went regularly 
to sing and play on the organ, when the chaplain held 
service. The world had cruelly misjudged her; was she any 
more lenient to those who might be equally innocent? 

Next day she went humbly, yet shyly, down to the common 
work-room, and took her place among the publicans, hoping 
that the soul of some outcast might be won to repentance. 
Now and then messages of sympathy reached her from the 
outside world, in the form of flowers, books, magazines; 
and two of the jurors who convicted her, sent from time to 
time generous contributions of dainty articles that materially 
promoted her comfort; while a third, whose dead child had 
clung to her Christmas card, eased his regretful pangs by 
the gift of a box containing paper, canvas, crayons, brushes, 
paints, and all requisite appliances for artistic work. 

Sister Serena had gone on a labor of love, to a distant 
State; and faithful Dyce, hopelessly crippled by a fall from 
the mule which she was forcing across the bridge leading 
to the State dungeon, had been permanently consigned to 
the wide rocking chair, beside her cabin hearth at “Elm 
Bluff”. 

It was a bleak night in January, and intensely cold, when 
Mrs. Singleton wrapped a shawl about her head, and ran 
along the dark corridor to the cell, where Beryl was walk- 
ing up and down to keep herself warm. Only the moonlight 
illumined it, as the rays fell on the bare floor, making a 
broad band of silver beneath the window. 

“I forgot to tell you, that something very dreadful hap- 
pened at the ‘Lilacs’ last week. Judge Dent had a stroke 
of paralysis and died the same night. As if that were not 
trouble enough to last for a while at least, the house took 
fire in that high wind yesterday, and burned to the ground ; 
leaving poor Miss Patty Dent without a roof to cover her. 
She had gone to the cemetery to carry flowers to her 
brother’s grave, and when she returned, it was too late to 
save anything. Miss Gordon’s new wing cost thousands of 


3^4 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


dollars and was furnished like a palace, so I am told; but 
the flames destroyed every vestige of the beautiful house, 
and the pictures and statues. It seems that it was heavily 
insured, but money can’t buy the old portraits and family 
silver, the mahogany and glass, and the yellow damask — 
that have been kept in the Dent family since George Wash- 
ington was a teething baby; and Miss Patty wails loudest 
over the loss of an old, old timey communion service, that 
the Dents boasted Queen Anne gave to one of them, who 
was an Episcopal minister. The poor old soul is almost 
crazy, I hear, and Mr. Dunbar carries her to New York 
to-morrow, where she has a nephew living; and next month 
she will go to Europe to join Miss Gordon. It is reported 
in town, that when Judge Dent died so suddenly. Miss Patty 
sent a cable telegram to her niece to come home; but early 
yesterday, just before the fire, an answer came by cable, 
asking Miss Patty to come to Europe. Some people think 
Mr. Dunbar intends escorting her, and that when he meets 
Miss Gordon, the marriage will take place over there; but 
I never will believe that, till it happens.” 

She peered curiously into the face of her listener, but the 
light was too dim to enable her to read its expression. 

“Why not? Under the circumstances, such a course seems 
eminently natural and proper.” 

“Do you really think he intends marrying?” 

“I am the confidant of neither the gentleman nor the 
lady; but you told me long ago, that a marriage engage- 
ment existed between them; and since both have shown me 
much kindness and sympathy, I sincerely hope their united 
lives may be very happy. If Mr. Dunbar searched the uni- 
verse, he could scarcely find Miss Gordon’s equal, certainly 
not her superior; and he cannot fail to appreciate his good 
fortune in winning her.” 

Mrs. Singleton lifted her shoulder significantly. “Per- 
haps! but you can never be sure of men. They are about 
as uncertain calculations as the hatching of guinea eggs, 
or the sprouting of parsley seed. What is theirs can’t be 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


365 


wortti much; but what belongs to somebody else, is invalua- 
ble; moreover, they are liable to sudden tantrums of sheer 
obstinacy, that hang on like whooping-cough, or a sprain in 
one’s joints. Did you never see a mule take the sulks on his 
way to the corn crib and the fodder rack, and refuse to 
budge, even for his own benefit? Some men are just that 
perverse. Mr. Dunbar is trailing game, worth more to him 
at present, than a sweetheart across the Atlantic Ocean; 
which reminds me of what brought me here. He asked 
Ned to-day, if you saw Mr. Darrington yesterday when he 
came here; and learning that you did not, he gave him this 
paper, which he said would explain what the Legislature 
did last month, about declaring you of age. Ned told him 
you signed some document Mr. Wolverton brought here 
last week, which secured all the property to Mr. Darrington, 
and he said he had been informed of the transaction, and 
that Mr. Darrington would soon go back to Germany. Then 
he added: ‘Singleton, present my respects to Miss Brentano 
and tell her, I am happy to say that my trip West last sum- 
mer was not entirely unsuccessful. It has furnished me with 
a very valuable clue. She will understand.’ Oh, dear ! how 
bitterly cold it is ! Come to my room, and get thoroughly 
thawed; Ned is down stairs, and the children are asleep.” 

“No, thank you; I should only feel the cold more, when 
I came back.” 

“Then take my shawl and cover your ears and throat. 
There, you must. Good night.” 

She closed the door, and fled down the long black pas- 
sage, to the bright cozy room, where her babes slumbered. 

Slowly Beryl resumed her walk from window to door, 
from bar to bar, but of the stinging cold she grew oblivious ; 
and the blood burned in her cheeks and throbbed with almost 
suffocating violence at her heart. 

She comprehended fully the significance of the message, 
and dared not comfort herself with the supposition that it 
was prompted by a spirit of bravado. 


366 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


To what quarter of the globe was he tracking the des- 
perate culprit, who had fled sorely wounded from his mur- 
derous assault? Ignorant of his mother’s death, and of his 
sister’s expiatory incarceration, might not Bertie venture 
back to the great city, where she had last seen him; and be 
trapped by those wily ^'Quoestores Paricidii^* of the nine- 
teenth century — special detectives ? 

Fettered, muzzled by the stone walls of her dungeon, she 
could send him no warning, could only pray and endure, 
while she and her reckless, wayward brother drifted help- 
lessly down the dark, swift river of doom. At every revival 
of fears for his safety, up started the mighty temptation that 
never slumbered, to confess all to Mr. Dunbar; but as per- 
sistently she took it by the throat, and crushed it back, re- 
solved at all hazards to secure, if possible, the happiness of 
the woman who had trusted her. 

In the midst of the wreck of her life, out of the depths 
of the dust of humiliation, had sprung the beautiful blossom 
of love, shedding its intoxicating fragrance over ruin; yet, 
because the asp of treachery lurked in the exquisite, folded 
petals, she shut her eyes to the bewildering loveliness, and 
loyalty strove to tear it up by the roots, to trample it out; 
learning thereby, that the fibrous thread had struck deep 
into her own heart, defying ejectment. 

She had forbidden his visits, interdicted letters; but she 
could not expel the vision of a dear face that haunted her 
memory; nor exorcise the spell of a voice that had first 
thrilled her pulses when pleading with the jury in her 
behalf. 

Sometimes she wondered whether she had been created 
as a mere sentient plummet to sound every gulf of human 
woe; then humbly recanted the impious repining, and 
thanked God that, at least, she had been spared that deepest 
of all abysses, the Hades of remorse. That which comes to 
most women as the supreme earthly joy — the consciousness 
of possessing the heart of the man they love, fell upon 
Beryl like the lash of flagellation ; rendering doubly fierce the 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


367 


battle of renunciation, which she fought, knowing that sedi- 
tion and treason were raising the standard of revolt within 
the fortress. 

During the eight months that had elapsed since Leo sailed 
for Europe, Beryl had exchanged no word with Mr. Dun- 
bar; but twice a sudden, tumultuous leaping of her heart 
surprised her at sight of him, standing in the door of the 
chapel; watching her as she sat within the altar rail, play- 
ing the little organ, while the convict congregation stood up 
to sing. Although no name was ever appended, she knew 
what hand had directed the various American and foreign 
art magazines, which brought their argosy of beauty to 
divert and gladden her sombre meditations. 

On Christmas morning, the second of her sojourn within 
penitentiary walls, the express messenger had brought to the 
door of her cell, two packages, one a glowing heart of crim- 
son and purple passion flowers, the other an exquisite en- 
graving of Sir Frederick Leighton’s “Hercules Wrestling 
with Death”; and below the printed title, she recognized the 
bold characters traced in red ink: *^The Alcestis you emu- 
late/^ 

To-night, a ray of moonlight crept across the wall, and 
shivered its silver over the rigid face of the dead wife in 
the picture; and the prisoner, gazing mournfully at it, com- 
prehended that her own fate was sadder than that of the 
immortal Greek devotee. To die for Admetus after he had 
sworn on the altar of his gods, that he would spend alone 
the remainder of his days, solaced by no fair successor, 
dedicating his fidelity to appease her manes, was compara- 
tively easy; but to turn away, voluntarily resign the man 
she loved, and assist in forging the links which she must 
live to see chaining him to a happy rival, were an ordeal 
more appalling to Alcestis than premature descent into the 
dusky realm of Persephone. 

To secure to her brother immunity from pursuit, and to 
Miss Gordon the allegiance of the husband of her choice, 
was the problem that banished sleep and kept Beryl pacing 


368 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


the floor, until welcome day hung her orange mantle over 
the quivering splendor of the morning star. One final effort 
was all that seemed possible now; and kneeling before the 
table she wrote and sealed a note, to be delivered before the 
express train bore the lawyer away on his journey: 

“Your message was received, and it has so disquieted and 
alarmed me that I am forced to treat for peace. If you will 
cancel your police contracts, cease your search, go to Europe 
with Miss Dent, and pledge me your honor to marry Miss 
Gordon before you return, I will solemnly promise, bind 
myself in the sight of the God I serve, to live and to die 
Beryl Brentano; and never, without your consent and per- 
mission, will I look again on the face of the man Vv^hom you 
are hunting to death. The assurance of his safety will atone 
for all you have made me suffer; will nerve me to bear 
whatever the future may hold. You will imagine you under- 
stand, but it is impossible that you can ever realize the 
nature of the pain this proposal involves for me; neverthe- 
less, if you accept and keep the compact, I believe you know 
that, at all costs, I shall never forfeit the pledged word of 

“Beryl Brentano.” 

When marriage vows had irrevocably committed Leo’s 
happiness to his honor, it might then be safe to tell him 
the truth, and solicit release from the self-imposed terms. 
Five hours later, she received an answer: 

“A trifle too late, you unfurled the flag of truce. With 
my game in sight, I decline to forego the chase. For your 
solicitude regarding my marriage, I tender my thanks; and 
the assurance, that no magnet can draw, not all the charms 
of Circe lure me across the Atlantic, until I have accom- 
plished my purpose. The tardiness of your proposal is un- 
erring appraiser of its costliness ; and I were a monster of 
cruelty to debar you the sight of your idol, though I bring 
him with the grim garniture of chains and handcuffs. When 
I consign Miss Dent to her relatives in New York, I go to 
a miners’ camp in Dakota, to identify a man bearing the 

marks of one who fled from X , and lost his pipe, on the 

night he murdered Gen’l Darrington. 

“Dunbar.” 

To temporize longer would be fatal to Bertie; and no 
alternative remained but to tell the simple truth. 

Without an instant’s delay she took up her pen, but ere 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


369 


half a line had been traced on the paper, a hoarse whistle, 
somewhat mulOfled by distance, told her the attempt was fu- 
tile; and through the valley beyond the river a trailing ser- 
pent of black smoke showed the express train darting north- 
ward. The attorney had left X , but might linger in 

New York sufficiently long for a letter to reach him; and 
doubtless his address could be learned at his office: 

“If Mr. Dunbar will give me an opportunity of acquaint- 
ing him with some facts, he is anxious to discover, he shall 
find it unnecessary to travel to Dakota; and will thank me 
for saving him from the long journey he contemplates. 

“B. B.” 

The sun was setting when Mr. Singleton returned from 
the attorney’s office, and held out the note which he had 
been instructed to address and deposit in the mail. 

“If it is a matter of any importance, I am sorry to tell 
you that this cannot reach Mr. Dunbar immediately. He 
goes only as far as Philadelphia, where Miss Dent’s nephew 
meets her; then Dunbar travels right on West without stop- 
ping, till he reaches Bismarck. He left instructions at his 
office to retain all mail matter here, for a couple of weeks, 
then forward to Washington City; as business would detain 
him there some days after his return from the west. Good 
gracious ! how white your lips are. Sit down. What ails 
you?” 

She put her hand over her eyes, and tried to collect her 
thoughts. To suffer so long, so keenly, and yet lose the 
victory; could it be possible that her sacrifice would prove 
utterly futile? 

“Mr. Singleton, you have shown me many times your 
friendly sympathy, and I am again forced to tax your 
kindness. It is important that I should see or communicate 
with Mr. Dunbar within the next forty-eight hours. Could 
you induce the telegraph operator here to have a message 
delivered to him on the train, before it reaches Washington 
City?” 

“I will certainly do my best; and to insure it I will go 


370 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


to the railroad operator, who understands the stations, and 
can catch Dunbar more easily than a message from the 
general office. Write our your telegram, while I order my 
buggy.” 

“Mr. Dunbar. On board Train No. 2. 

“Please let me see you before you go West. I promise 
information that will render you unwilling to make the 
journey to Bismarck. B. B.” 

Anxiously she computed the time within which an answer 
might reasonably be expected; and her heart dwelt as a sup- 
pliant before God, that the message would avail to arrest 
pursuit; but hours wore wearily away, tedious days trod 
upon the slow skirts of dreary nights ; and no response lifted 
the burden of dread. Hope whispered feebly that his failure 
to send a telegraphic reply, implied his intention of return- 
ing to X from Philadelphia; and she clung to this rope 

of sand until a week had passed. Then the conviction was 
inevitable that he regarded her appeal as merely a ruse to 
divert his course, to delay the seizure of his prey; and that 
while he misinterpreted the motive that prompted her mes- 
sage, she had merely furnished an additional goad to his 
jealous hatred. 

As helpless wrack borne on the sullen tide of destiny, she 
struck her trembling hands together, and cried out in the 
dark solitude of her cell: “Verily! The stars in their 
courses fought against Sisera.” 


CHAPTER XXV. 

The winter was marked by an unusual severity of cold, 
which prolonged the rigor of mid-season until late in Febru- 
ary, and despite the efforts of penitentiary officials who 
made unprecedented requisitions upon the board of inspect- 
ors, for additional clothing, the pent human herd suffered 
keenly. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


371 


Alarmed by the rapidly increasing rate of sickness within 
the “walls,” Mr. Singleton demanded a sanitary commission, 
which, after apparently thorough investigation, reported no 
visible local cause for the mortality among the convicts; but 
the germs of disease grew swiftly as other evil weeds, and 
the first week in March saw a hideous harvest of diphtheria 
of the most malignant type. 

At the earliest intimation of the character of the pesti- 
lence, the warden’s wife fled with her little children to her 
mother’s home in a neighboring county; maternal solicitude 
having extinguished her womanly reluctance to desert her 
husband, at a juncture when her presence and assistance 
would so materially have cheered, and lightened his labors. 
An attempt was made to isolate the first case in the hospital, 
but the cots in that spacious apartment filled beyond the 
limits of accommodation; and soon, a large proportion of 
the cells on the ground floor held each its victim of the 
fatal disease, that as the scythe of death cut a wide 
swath through convict ranks. Consulting physicians walked 
through the infected ward, altered prescriptions, advised 
disinfectants which were liberally used, until the building 
seemed to exhale pungent, wholesome, but unsavory odors; 
yet there was no abatement in the virulence of the type. 
When the twenty-third case was entered on the hospital list, 
the trustees and inspectors determined to remove all who 
showed no symptom of the contagion, to an old, long- 
abandoned cotton factory several miles distant; where the 
vacant houses of former operatives would afford temporary 
shelter; and to diminish the chances of carrying infection, 
each prisoner was carefully examined by the attending 
physician, and then furnished with an entirely new suit of 
clothing. 

When the nature of the epidemic could no longer be con- 
cealed from the inmates, instinctive horror drove them from 
the neighborhood of the victims, and like frightened sheep 
they huddied in remote corners, removed as far as possible 


372 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


from the infected precincts, and loath to minister to the 
needs of the sufferers. 

Two men, and as many women, selected and detailed as 
nurses in their respective wards, openly rebelled; and while 
Doctor Moffat and Mr. Singleton were discussing the feasi- 
bility of procuring outside assistance, the door of the dis- 
pensary adjoining the hospital, opened, and Beryl walked 
up to the table, where medicines were weighed and mixed. 

“Put me to work among the sick. I want to help you.” 

“You! What could you do? I should as soon take a 
magnolia blossom to scrub the pots and pans of a filthy 
kitchen,” answered the doctor, looking up over his spectacles 
from the powder he was grinding in a glass mortar. 

“I can follow your directions; I can obey orders; and 
physicians deem that the sine qua non in nurses. Closed 
lips, open ears, willing hands are supposed to outweigh any 
amount of unlicensed brains. Try me.” 

“No. I am not willing. Go back up-stairs, and stay 
there,” said the warden. 

“Why may I not assist in nursing?” 

“In the first place you are not fit to mix with those poor 
creatures, in yonder; their oaths would curdle your blood; 
and in the second, you are not strong, and would be sure 
to take the disease at once.” 

“I am perfectly well; my lungs are now as healthy as 
yours, and I am not afraid of diphtheria. You detailed 
nurses, who refused to serve; I volunteer; have you any 
right to reject me?” 

“Yes, the right to protect and save your life, v/hich is 
worth twenty of those already in danger,” replied Mr. Sin- 
gleton, pausing in his task of filling capsules with quinine. 

“Who made you a judge of the value of souls? My life 
belongs first to God, who gave it, next to myself; and if I 
choose to jeopardize it, in work among my suffering com- 
rades in disgrace, you must not usurp the authority to pre- 
vent me.” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


373 


“Has it become so intolerable that you desire to commit 
suicide, under the specious plea of philanthropic martyr- 
dom?” said Doctor Moffat, whose keen black eyes scanned 
her closely, from beneath shaggy gray brows. 

“I think I may safely say, no such selfish motive under- 
lies my resolution. My heart is full of pity, and of dread 
for some women here, who admit their guilt, yet have sought 
no pardon from the Maker their sins insult. Sick souls 
cry out to me louder than dying bodies; and who dare deny 
me the privilege of ministering to both? The parable of 
the sparrows is no fable to me ; and if, while trying to com- 
fort my unhappy associates here, God calls me out of this 
dark stony vineyard. His will alone overrules all; and I 
can meet His face in peace. We say: ‘Lord what wilt 
Thou have us to do?’ and when the answer comes, point- 
ing us to perilous and loathsome labors, will He forget if 
we shut our eyes, and turn away, coveting the sunny fields 
into which He sent others to toil? Let me go to my work.” 

During almost eighteen months, both men had studied 
her character as manifested in the trying phases of prison 
existence, finding no flaw; to-day they looked up reverently 
at the graceful form in its homespun uniform, at the calm, 
colorless face, wearing its crown of meekness, with an 
inalienable, proud air of cold repose. 

“To keep you here is about as sacrilegious as it would 
have been to thrust St. Catherine among the chain-gang 
in the galleys,” muttered the doctor. 

“No doubt duty called her to much worse places; there- 
fore, when she died, the angels buried her on Sinai,” an- 
swered the prisoner; before whose wistful eyes drifted the 
memory of Luini’s picture. 

“You have set your heart on this; nothing less will con- 
tent you?” 

“While the necessity continues, nothing less will content 
me.” 

“Remember, you voluntarily take your life in your own 
hands.” 


374 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


“I assume the entire responsibility for any risk incurred.” 

“Then, I wish you God speed; for the harvest is white, 
the laborers few.” 

“Why, doctor! I relied on you to help me keep her out 
of reach. If anything happens, how shall I pacify Susie? 
She made me promise every possible care of her favorite. 
Look here, only an hour ago I received a letter and this 
package marked, ‘One for Ned ; the other for Miss Beryl.’ 
Two little red flannel safety bags, cure-alls, to be tied around 
our necks, close to our noses, as if we could not smell them 
a half mile off? Assafoetida, garlic, camphor, ‘jimson 
weed,’ valerian powder — phew! What, not? Mixed as a 
voudoo chowder, and a scent twice as loud !” 

“Be thankful your wife is not here to enforce the wear- 
ing of the sanitary sachet,** said the doctor, allowing himself 
a grimace of contemptuous disgust. 

“So I am ! but being a bachelor, answerable only to your- 
self, you cannot understand how absence does not exonerate 
me from the promise made when she started away. I would 
sooner face an ‘army with banners,’ than that little brown- 
eyed woman of mine when she takes the lapel of my coat 
in one hand, raises the forefinger of the other, turns her 
head sideways like a thrush watching a wriggling worm, 
and says, in a voice that rises as fast as the sound a mouse 
makes racing up the treble of the piano keys : ‘Ump ! whew ! 
Didn’t I tell you so? The minute my back was turned, of 
course you made ducks and drakes of all your promises. 
Show me a “Flying Jenney,” that the tip end of any idiot’s 
little finger can spin around, and I’ll christen it Edward 
McTwaddle Singleton!’ Seems funny to you, doctor? Just 
wait till you are married, and your Susan shuts the door 
and interviews you, picking a whole flock of crows, till you 
wonder if it isn’t raining black feathers. When I am taken 
to taw about this nursing business, I shall lose no time in 
laying the blame on you.” 

“I will assure Mrs. Singleton that you endeavored to dis- 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


375 


suade me ; and that you faithfully kept your promise to shield 
me from danger.” 

“Which she will not believe, because she knows that I 
have the power to lock you up indefinitely. Besides, if you 
live to explain matters, there will be no necessity; but sup- 
pose you do not? You are running into the jaws of an aw- 
ful danger, and if — ” 

His frank, pleasant countenance clouded, he gnawed his 
mustache, and the question ended in a long sigh. After a 
moment, a low, sweet voice completed the sentence: 

“If I should die, your tender-hearted wife is so truly and 
faithfully my friend, that she could not regret to hear I 
have entered into my rest.” 

There was a brief silence, during which the physician 
crossed the floor, opened a glass door and surveyed the stock 
of drugs. When he came back, and took up the pestle, he 
spoke with solemn emphasis: 

“This is the most malignant type of an always danger- 
ous disease that I have ever encountered; and constant ex- 
posure to it, without the careful, persistent use of tonic and 
disinfectant precautions, would be tantamount to walking 
unvaccinated into a pest-house, where people were dying 
of confluent small-pox. I have no desire to frighten, but 
it is proper that I should warn you; and insist upon the 
duty of watching your own health as closely as the symp- 
toms of the victims you are desirous of nursing. Will you 
follow the regimen I shall prescribe for yourself?” 

“Implicitly.” 

The warden finished filling the capsules, rose and looked 
at his watch. 

“As far as the chances go, it is ‘heads I win, tails you 
lose^ ; and sorry enough I am to see you come down and dare 
the pestilence; but since you are, I might as well say what 
I was asked to tell you last night. For your sake I kept 
silent ; now since you persist, I wash my hands of all re- 
sponsibility for the consequences. You have heard the his- 
tory of the woman Iva Le Bougeois, better known in the 


376 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


‘walls’ as the ‘Bloody Duchess’. Two days ago the scourge 
struck her down; she is very ill, the worst symptoms have 
appeared, and she is almost frantic with terror. Last night, 
at 12 o’clock, I was going the rounds of the sick wards, and 
found her wringing her hands, and running up and down 
the cell like a maniac. I tried to quiet and encourage her, 
but she paid no more attention than if stone deaf; and when 
I started to leave her, she seized my arm, and begged me 
to ask you to come and stay with her. She thinks if you 
would sing for her, she could listen, and forget the hor- 
rible things that haunt her. It is positively sickening to 
see her terror at the thought of death. Poor, desperate crea- 
ture.” 

“Yet you withheld her message when I might have com- 
forted her?” 

“It was a crazy whim. In hardened cases like hers, death- 
bed remorse counts for very little. Her conscience is lash- 
ing her; could you quiet that? Could you bleach out the 
blood that spots her soul?” 

“Yes, by leading her to One who can.” 

“Remember, you asked me as a special favor to keep you 
as far apart as possible from all of her class.” 

“At that time, overwhelmed by the misery of my own fate, 
I was pitiless to the sufferings of others. The rod that 
smote me was very cruel then; but by degrees it seems to 
bud like Aaron’s with precious promise, that may expand 
into the immortal flowers of souls redeemed. I dwelt too 
long in the seat of the Pharisees ; I shall live closer to God, 
walking humbly among the Publicans. Will you show me 
the way to the woman who wishes to see me?” 

“Not yet. There are some instructions that must be care- 
fully weighed before I can install you as nurse, in that dis- 
mal mire of moral and physical corruption. Singleton, send 
the hospital steward to me.” 

There are spectacles which brand themselves so inefface- 
ably upon memory, that time has no power to impair their 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERF^S 


377 

vividness ; and of such were some _o^ the scenes witnessed 
by the new nurse. 

Sitting on the side of her cot, from which the gray blan- 
ket hadLbee^ dragged and folded half across her shoulders, 
where one hand held it, while the other clutched savagely 
at her throat; with her bare delicate feet beating a tattoo 
on the white sanded floor, and her thin nostrils dilated in the 
battle for breath, Iva Le Bougeois moaned in abject terror. 
The coarse, unbleached “domestic” night-gown that fell to 
her ankles was streaked across the bosom with some dark 
brown fluid; and similar marks stained the pillow where 
her restless head had tossed. The hot eyes and parched 
red lips seemed to have drained all the tainted blood from 
her olive cheeks, save where, just beneath the lower lids, 
ominous terra-cotta rings had been painted and glazed by 
the disease. 

As Beryl pushed open the iron door, and held up the lan- 
tern, that its brightness might stream into the cell, where 
even at five o’clock in the afternoon of a rainy day dark- 
ness reigned, the rays flashed back from the glowing eyes 
chatoyant as a cougar’s. 

“Your message was not delivered until to-day, and I lost 
no time in coming.” 

The small head, where short, straight, blue-black locks, 
rumpled and disordered, were piled elfishly around the low 
brow, was thrown up with the swift movement of some 
startled furry animal, alert even in the throes of death. 

“Is all hope over? Did they tell you there is no chance 
for me?” 

The voice was hoarse and thick, the articulation indis- 
tinct and smothered. 

“No. They think you very ill, but still hope the remedies 
will save you. The doctor says your fine constitution ought 
to conquer the disease.” 

“I am beyond the remedy — because I can’t swallow any 
longer. Since the doctor left me, I have tried and tried. 
See—” 


378 


at the mercy of TIBERIUS 


From a bench withii: reach, she lifted a small yellow bowl, 
which contained a dark i.d::^ire, put it to her lips, and 
chafing her swollen glands, attempted several times to swal- 
low the liquid. A gurgling sound betrayed the futility of 
the effort, the medicine gushed from her nose, the eyes 
seemed starting from their sockets, and even the husky cry 
of the sufferer was strangled, as she cowered down. 

“Compose yourself; nervousness increases the difficulty. 
Once I had diphtheria, and could not swallow for two days, 
yet I recovered. Be quiet, and let me try to help you.” 

Kneeling in front of her. Beryl turned up the wick of the 
lantern, and with a small brush attached to a silver wire, fi- 
nally succeeded in cauterizing and removing a portion of the 
poisonous growth that was rapidly narrowing the avenue of 
breath. The spasm of coughing that ensued was Nature’s 
auxiliary effort, and temporarily relieved the tightening 
clutch. 

After a few moments, a dose of the medicine was success- 
fully administered ; and then the slender, shapely brown 
hand of the woman grasped the nurse’s blue homespun dress. 

“Don’t leave me ! Save me. Oh, don’t let me strangle 
here alone — in the dark ; don’t let me die ! I’m not fit. I 
know where I shall go. It’s not the devil I dread; I have 
known many devils in this world, — but God. I am afraid of 
God!” 

“Lie down, and cover your shoulders. If it comforts you 
to have me, I will stay gladly. The doctor, the warden, all 
of us will do what we can to cure you; but the help you 
need most, can come only from one whose pity is greater 
and tenderer than ours, your merciful God. Lift up your 
heart in prayer to him; ask him to forgive your sins, and 
spare you to lead a better life.” 

“He would not hear, because He knows how black my 
heart has been all these years; since I gave myself up to 
hate and cursing. You can’t understand — ^you are not one 
of us. You are as much out of place here, as one of the 
angels would be, held over the flames of torment till the 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


379 


wings singed. From the first time we saw you in the 
chapel, and more and more ever since, we found out you 
did not belong here. I have been so wicked — so wicked — !’* 

She paused, panting, then hurried on. 

“When the chaplain tried to talk to me, and gave me a 
book to read, I dashed it back in his face, and insulted him. 
One Saturday they sent me to sweep out and dust the 
chapel, and when I finished, I laid down on one of the 
benches to rest. You went in to practise, not knowing I 
was there; and began to sing. As I listened, something 
seemed to stir and wake up in my heart, and somehow the 
music shook me out of myself. There was one hymn, so 
solemn, so thrilling, and the end of every verse was, ^Oh, 
Lamb of God ! I come !’ — and you sang it with a great 
cry, as if you were running to meet some one. I had not 
wept — for oh ! I don’t know how long — not since — . Then 
you played on the organ some variations on a tune — ‘The 
Sweet By-and-by’ — and the tears started, and I seemed but 
a leaf in a wild storm. That was the song my little boy 
used to sing! There was a Sunday-school in the basement 
of a church next to our house, and he would stand at the 
window, and listen till he caught the tune, and learned the 
words. Oh, that hymn ! Every note stung me like a whip 
lash when I heard it again. My child’s face as I saw him 
the last time I put him to bed; when he opened his drowsy 
eyes, and raised up to kis-s me good-night, came back to me, 
and seemed to sing, ‘In the sweet by-and-by, we shall meet 
on that beautiful shore.’ No — never — never! Oh, my boy! 
My beautiful angel Max — ^there is no room for me, on that 
heavenly shore ! Oh ! my darling — there is no ‘Sweet by- 
and-by’ for mother nowT 

She had started up, with arms clasped around her knees, 
and her convulsed face lifted toward the low ceiling of the 
cell, writhed, as she drew her breath in hissing gasps. 

“You loved your little boy?” 

“You are not a mother, or you wouldn’t ask me that. 
If ever you had felt your baby’s sweet warm lips on yours, 


38 o 


'AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


you would know that it is mother-love that makes tigers of 
women. Because I idolized my little one, I could not bear 
the cruel wrong of having him torn from me, taught to de- 
spise me; and so I loved him best when I slew him, and I 
was so mad, with the delirium of pain and rage and despair, 
that I forgot I was putting the gul^ of perdition between 
us. Rather than submit to separation in this world, than 
have him raised by them, to turn away from his mother as 
A thing too vile to wear his father’s name, I lost him for 
3ver and ever ! My son, my star-eyed darling.” 

“Listen to me. You loved him so tenderly, that no matter 
how wilful or disobedient he might have been, you forgave 
him every offence; and when he sobbed on your bosom, you 
felt he was doubly dear, and hugged him closer to your 
heart? Even stronger and deeper is God’s love for us. 
Dare you call yourself more pitiful, -more tender than your 
Father in heaven, who gave you the capacity to love your 
child, because He so compassionately loves His children? 
We sin, we go far astray, we think mercy is exhausted, and 
the door shut against us; but when we truly repent and go 
back, and kneel, and pray to be forgiven, Christ Himself 
unbars the door and leads us in; and our Father, loving 
those whom He created, pardons all ; and only requires that 
we sin no more. God does not follow us; we must humbly 
go back all the distance we have put between us by our 
wickedness; but the heavens will fall before He fails to 
keep His promise to forgive, when we do genuinely repent 
of our wrongdoing.” 

“It is easy for the good to believe that. You are inno- 
cent of any crime, and you are punished for other people’s 
sins, not for your own; so you can’t understand how I 
dread the thought of God, because I know the blackness of 
my heart, when, to get my revenge, I sold my soul to Satan. 
Oh! the horror of feeling that I can’t undo the bargain; 
that pay-day has come! I had the vengeance, I snatched 
out of God’s hands, and for a while I gloated over it; but 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 381 

now the awful price ! My little one in heaven with the 
angels; knowing that his mother is a devil — eternally/’ 

Her head had fallen upon her knees, and in the frenzy 
of despair she rocked to and fro. 

‘‘Don’t you remember that the most sinful woman Christ 
met on earth, was the one of all others that He first re- 
vealed Himself to, when He came out of the grave? Be- 
cause she was so nearly lost, and He had forgiven so much, 
in order to save her, her purified heart was doubly dear, 
and he honored her more than the disciples, who had es- 
caped the depth of her wickedness. Try to find comfort 
in the belief, that if sincere remorse and contrition re- 
deemed the soul of Mary Magdalen, the same Savior who 
pitied and pardoned her will not deny your prayer.” 

“God believed her, because she proved her repentance by 
leading a new, purer life. But I have no chance left to 
prove mine. If she had been cut ofif in the midst of her 
sins, as I am, she would have been obliged to pay in her 
ruined soul to the Satan she had served so long. When I 
am called to the settlement, it seems an insult and a mock- 
ery to ask God, whom I have defied, to save me. If I 
could only have a little time to show my penitence.” 

“Perhaps you may be spared; but if not, God sees your 
contrition just as fully now as if you lived fifty years to 
show it in good works. He sees you are sincerely remorse- 
ful, and would be a true Christian, if He allowed you an 
opportunity. That is the blessedness of our religion, that 
when Christ gives us a new heart, purified by repentance 
and faith in Him, He says it makes clean hands, in His 
sight, no matter how black they might have been. One of 
the thieves was already on the cross, in the agonies of death, 
with his sins fresh on his soul, and no possible chance of 
atoning for his past, by future dedication of his life to good ; 
but Christ saw his heart was genuinely repentant, and 
though the man did not escape crucifixion by humanity, his 
pardoned soul met Jesus that same day in Paradise. It is 
Hot acceptance of our good deeds, though they are required. 


382 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


it is forgiveness of our sins, that makes Christ so precious. 
Pray from the very bottom of your heart, to God, and try 
to take hold of the promise to the truly penitent ; and trust — 
trust Him.” 

For a moment the crouching figure was still, as if the 
sufferer mentally grasped at some shred of hope; then she 
fell back on her pillow, and groaned. 

“Do you know all I have done? Do you think there is 
any mercy for — ” 

“Hush, every word taxes your failing strength. Compose 
yourself.” 

“I can’t ! As long as I have breath let me tell you. If I 
shut my eyes, horrible things seem to be pouncing upon me ; 
dreadful shapes laugh, and beckon to me, and I see — oh 1 
pity me! I see my murdered child, with the blood spouting, 
foaming, the velvety brown eyes I loved to kiss, staring 
and glazed as I dragged his little body to — ” 

With a gurgling scream she paused, shivered, panted. 

“It is a feverish dream. Your child is safe in heaven ; 
ask your Father to let you see his face among the angels.” 

“It’s not fever; it’s the past, my own crimes that come 
to follow me to judgment and accuse me. The hand of my 
first-born pointing over the last bar at the mother who 
killed him! Do you wonder I am afraid to die? I don’t 
deny my bloody deeds — ^but after all it was a foul wrong 
that drove me to desperation; and God knows, man’s in- 
justice brought me to my sin. I was a spoiled, motherless 
child, married at sixteen to a man whose family despised 
me, because my pretty face had ruined their scheme of a 
match with an heiress, whose money was needed to retrieve 
their fortunes. They never forgave the marriage, and after 
a few years, mischief began to brew. 

“I loved my husband, but his nature was too austere to 
deal patiently with my freakish, petulant, volcanic temper; 
and when he lectured me for my frivolity, obstinacy plunged 
me into excesses of gayety, that at heart I did not enjoy. 
His mother and sister shunned me more and more, poisoned 


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383 


his mind with wicked and unfounded suspicions, and so we 
grew mutually distrustful. He tired of me, and he showed 
it. I loved him. Oh ! I loved him better, and better, as I 
saw him drifting away. He neglected me, spent his leisure 
where he met the woman he had once intended to marry. I 
was so maddened with jealous heart-ache, some evil spirit 
prompted me to try and punish him with the same pangs. 
That was my first sin of deception; I pretended an attach- 
ment I never felt, hoping to rekindle my husband’s affec- 
tion. Like many another heart-sick wife, I was caught in 
my own snare; and while I was as innocent of any wrong 
as my own baby boy, his father was glad of a pretext to ex- 
cuse his alienation. People slandered me; and because I 
loved Allen so deeply, I was too proud to defend myself, 
until too late. 

‘‘God is my witness, my husband was the only man I ever 
loved ; ah ! how dear he was to me ! His very garments 
were precious; and I have kissed and cried over his gloves, 
his slippers. The touch of his hand was worth all the world 
to me, but he withheld it. When you know your husband 
loves you, he may ill treat, may trample you under his feet, 
but you can forgive him all ; you caress the heel that bruises 
you. Allen ceased to show me ordinary consideration, stung 
me with sneers, threatened separation; even shrunk from 
the boy, because he was mine. 

“There came a day, when some fiend forged a letter, and 
the same vile hand laid it in my husband’s desk. Only 
God knows whose is the guilt of that black deed, but I be- 
lieve it was his sister’s work. Allen cursed me as unworthy 
to be the mother of his child, and swore he would be free. 
On my knees I begged him to hear, and acquit me. I con- 
fessed all my yearning love for him, I assured him I was 
the victim of a foul plot; and that if he would only take 
me back to the heaven of his heart, he would find that no 
man ever had a more devoted wife. He wanted an excuse 
to put me out of his way; he repulsed me with scorn, and 
before the sun set, he forsook me, and took up his abode 


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with his mother and sister. Oh! the cruel wrong of that 
dreadful, parting scene !” 

She sprang from the cot, breathless from the passionate 
recital, beating the air with one small slender hand, while 
the other tore at the swollen cords of her tortured throat. 

Beryl caught the round, prettily turned wrist, and felt the 
feeble thread of pulse that was only a wild flutter, under 
the olive satin of the hot skin. 

‘‘This excitement only hastens the end you dread. Lie 
down, and I will pray for you.” 

“I shall soon lie down for ever. Let me walk a little, 
before my feet slide into the grave.” 

She staggered twice across the length of the cell, then 
tottered and fell back on the cot. At every respiration the 
thin nostrils flared, and the glazed ring below the eyes 
lost its sullen red tinge, took on blue shadows. 

“I did not know then I was to lose my child also; but 
before long, all the scheme was made clear. Allen sued 
for a divorce. He wanted to shake me off ; and he per- 
suaded himself all the foul things my enemies had concocted 
must be true. I had lost his love ; I was too proud to show 
my torn heart to the world; and men make the laws to suit 
themselves, and they help each other to break chains that 
gall, so Allen was set free. I shut myself up in two rooms, 
with my boy, and saw no one. Even then, though my 
heart was breaking, and I wept away the lonely days — 
longing for the sight of my husband’s face, starving for 
the sound of his voice — I bore up; because I knew I was 
innocent, and unjustly censured, and I had my child to com- 
fort me. He slept in my arms and kept me human; and we 
were all the world to each other. 

“Then the last blow fell. There came a note, whose every 
word bit my heart like an adder. Allen demanded the boy, 
whom the law gave to his guardianship; and I was warned 
I must make no attempt to see him after he was taken 
away, because he would be taught to forget me. I refused. 
I dared the officer to lay hands on my little one, and I was 


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385 


so frantic with grief, the man had compassion, and left me. 
Two nights afterward, I rocked him to sleep and put him 
in bed. His arms fell from my neck; half aroused, he nes- 
tled his face to mine — kissed me. I went into the next room 
to finish a shirt I was making for him, and I shut the door, 
fearing the noise of the machine would wake him. I sewed 
half an hour, and — when I went back, the bed was empty, 
my child was gone. 

‘T think I went utterly mad then. I can remember putting 
my lips to the dent on the little ruffled pillow, where his 
head had lain, and swearing that I would have my revenge. 

“That night turned me to stone; every tender feeling 
seemed to petrify. When I learned that Allen was soon to 
marry the woman for whom he had cast me off, and that 
my boy was to have a new mother to teach him to hate 
me, it did not grieve me; I had lost all power of suffer- 
ing; but it woke up a legion of fiends where my heart used 
to beat, and I bided my time. Happy women in happy 
homes think me a monster. With their husbands’ arms 
around them, and their babies prattling at their knees, they 
bear my wrongs so meekly, and shudder at my depravity. 
When I thought of Allen, who was my first and last and 
only love, giving my place to some other woman, who was 
no more worthy than I knew myself to be ; and of the baby, 
who had slept on my heart, and was so dear because he had 
his father’s eyes and his father’s brown curls, growing up 
to deny and condemn his innocent but disgraced mother, it 
was more than I could bear. I was not insane ; oh, no ! But 
I was possessed by more than seven devils; and revenge 
was all this world could give me. My husband’s family 
had ruined me; so I would spoil their match a second 
time. 

“The wedding was to be very private, but I bribed a serv- 
ant and got into the house, and stood behind the damask cur- 
tains. Allen’s mother and sister came in, leading my boy; 
and they were so close to me I could see the long silky 
lashes resting against my baby’s brow, as his great brown 


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eyes looked wonderingly at a horseshoe of roses dangling 
from the chandelier. Then my husband, my handsome hus- 
band — my darling’s father, walked in, with the bride on his 
arm, and the minister met them, saying: ‘Dearly beloved — * 
I ceased to be a woman then, I was a fury, a wild beast — 
and two minutes later my darlings were mine once more, 
safe from that other woman — dead at my feet. Then the 
ball I aimed at my own breast missed its destination. I 
fell on my slaughtered idols; seeing in a bloody mist the 
wide eyes of my baby boy, and the mangled face of the 
husband whose kiss was the only heaven I shall ever know. 
I meant to die with them, but I failed; so they sent me 
here. That was years ago; but I was a stone until that 
day in the chapel, when you sang my Max’s song, ‘By-and- 
By’.” 

There was a brief silence, and Beryl’s voice wavered as 
she said very gently: 

“Your trials were fiery; and though the crime was fright- 
fully black, God judges us according to the natures we are 
born with, and the temptations that betray us; and He for- 
gives all, if we are true penitents and throw ourselves trust- 
ingly on His mercy. Now take this powder; it will make 
you sleep.” 

“Will you stay with me? I shall not trouble anybody 
much longer. Say a prayer for my sinful soul, that is going 
down into the eternal night.” 

“Let us pray together, that your pardoned soul may find 
blessed and eternal peace.” 

Coming softly to the door, the doctor looked in through 
the iron lattice, saw the figure of the nurse kneeling on the 
sanded floor, with her bronzed head close to the pillow where 
the moaning victim’s lay; and involuntarily he took off his 
cloth cap, and bowed his gray head to listen to the brief 
but solemn petition that went up from the dungeon to the 
supreme and unerring Judge. 

When he returned to the same spot an hour later. Beryl 
sat on the side of the cot, with one hand clasping the brown 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 387 

wrist thrown across her lap, the other pressed gently over 
the sufferer’s hot, aching eyes; and wonderfully sweet was 
the rich voice that chanted low: 

“Just as I am, without one plea. 

But that Thy blood was shed for me. 

And that Thou bidd’st me come to Thee, 

O Lamb of God! I come, I come! 

Just as I am, and waiting not 
To rid my soul of one dark blot, 

To Thee, whose blood can cleanse each spot, 

O Lamb of God ! I come, I come !” 

The noon sun was shining over a wet world, kindling 
into diamonds the crystal fringe of rain drops hanging from 
the green lances of willows, where a tufted red bird arched 
his scarlet throat in madrigal — when four men lifted a cot, 
and bore it with its apparently dying burden to a spot upon 
which the warm light fell in a golden flood. 

Between the Destroying Angel and his gasping prey, 
stepped two, anointed with the chrism of the Priesthood 
of Cure; and undismayed by the strident, sibilant, fitful 
breath that distorted the blue lips of the victim, they parried 
the sweep of the scythe of death, with the tiny, glittering 
steel blade surgery cunningly fashions; and through its sil- 
ver canula, tracheotomy recalled the vanishing spirit, tri- 
umphantly renewed the lease of life. 

At sunset on the same day. Beryl followed the warden to 
the door of the large hospital. 

“Of all pitiful sights here, this has harrowed me the most. 
The doctors did all they could, and the chaplain worked 
hard to save her soul, but she was like flint, till just before 
the end, when she raised up, and heard her child crying 
down in the work-room, where it had been put to sleep. 
We could scarcely hold her; she fought like a panther to 
get out of bed, till the blood gushed from her nose, and 
though she could not speak plainly, she pointed, and we 
made out: ‘Baby — Dovie’. The doctor would not consent 
that we should expose the child to the risk, but I could not 
hold out against that poor creature’s pleading wild eyes, so 
I just brought the little one. What a strangling cry she 


388 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


gave, when I put it in her arms, and how the tears poured ! 
She was almost gone, and we saw that she wanted to tell 
us something about the child, but we could not understand. 
The doctor put a pencil in her hand, and held a sheet of 
paper before her, and she tried to scrawl her wishes, but 
all we can read is: ‘Her father won’t ever own her. Bap- 
tize — her Dovie — Eve Werneth’s baby. Don’t ever tell her 
she was born in jail. Raise her a good — good — She 
had a sort of spasm then, and squeezed the child so tight, 
it screamed. In five minutes, she was dead. Only nine- 
teen years old, and the little one just two years; and not 
yet weaned! I don’t know what to do; so I brought you. 
If I touch the child, it seems frightened almost to death, 
but maybe you can coax it away. Poor little thing! What 
a mercy if it could die!” 

“Will you let me have the care of it? Take it, and keep 
it up in my cell?” 

“I shall be only too thankful, if you will lift the load 
from my shoulders.” 

“Tell the steward to bring me a cup of warm, sweetened 
milk and a cracker. The poor little lamb must be almost 
famished.” 

Through an open window streamed the radiance of a daf- 
fodil sky, flecked with curling plumes of drifting fire, and 
the glory fell like a benediction on the iron cot, where lay 
the body of the early dead; a small, slight, blond girl wear- 
ing prematurely the crown of maternity, whose thorns had 
torn and stained the smooth brow of mere childhood. The 
half-opened eyes, fixed in their filmy blue glaze, seemed a 
prayer for the pretty infant, whose head, a glistening tangle 
of yellow curls, was nestled down against the bare white 
throat of the rigid mother; while the dimpled hands pulled 
fretfully at the blood-spattered gown, that was buttoned 
across the breast. 

As clusters of wild snowy violets springing up in the midst 
of mud and mire, in a noxious swamp, look doubly pure and 
sweet because of fetid surroundings, — so this blossom of 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


389 


the slums, this human bud, with petals of innocence folded 
close in the calyx of babyhood, seemed supremely and pa- 
thetically fair, as she stood leaning against the cot, the little 
rosy feet on tip-toe, pressing toward her mother; tears on 
the pink velvet of the round cheeks, on the golden lashes 
beneath the big blue eyes that grew purplish behind the 
mist. 

The Macedonia of suffering humanity lies always within 
a stone’s throw; and the “cry for help” had found speedy 
response in more than one benevolent heart. 

A gray-haired widow from the “Sheltering Arms,” to 
which Sister Serena belonged, and a Sister of Charity from 

the hospital in X , were already ministering tenderly in 

the crowded ward; and both had essayed to coax away the 
little figure clutching her mother’s gown; but the flaring 
white cap of one, and the flapping black drapery of the 
other, frightened the trembling child. 

Into the group stole Beryl; followed closely by the yellow 
cat, which had become her shadow. Kneeling beside the 
baby, she kissed it softly, took one of the hands, patted 
her own cheek with it, and lifted the cat to the mattress, 
where it began to purr. The silky shock of yellow curls 
was lifted, the wide eyes stared wonderingly first at Beryl’s 
face bending near, then at the cat ; and by degrees, the lovely 
waif suffered an arm to draw her farther and farther, while 
her rose-red mouth parted in a smile, that showed six little 
teeth, and with one hand fastened in the cat’s fur, she 
was finally lifted and borne away; Beryl’s soft cheek nestled 
against hers, the bronzed head bent down to the yellow 
ringlets; one arm holding the baby and the cat, while the 
other white hand closed warmly over the child’s bare, cold, 
dimpled feet. 


390 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

Fair and flowery as in the idyllic dawn when Theocritus 
sang its pastoral charms, was that sunny Sicilian land 
where, one May morning, Leo Gordon wandered with 
a gay party in quest of historic sites, which the slow silting 
of the stream of time had not obliterated. Viewed from the 
heights of Achradina, whence all the vestiges of niagnificence 
and luxury have vanished, and only the hideous monument 
of “man’s inhumanity to man” remains, what a vast pan- 
orama stretched far as the horizon on every side. 

To the north, girding the fire-furrowed plain of Catania 
where olive, lemon, oleander and orange springing out of 
black lava, mingled hues like paints on an ebony palette — 
rose vast, lonely, purple at base, snowy at summit, brooding 
Etna; dozing in the soft, sweet springtime, with red, wrath- 
ful eyes veiled by a silvery haze. An unlimited expanse of 
crinkling blue sea, shot like Persian silk with gleams of gold, 
and laced here and there with foam scallops, bounded the 
east; smiling treacherously above the ghastly wreck sepul- 
tured in its coral crypts, that might have told of the crash 
of triremes, the flames of sinking galleys, which twenty- 
two centuries ago lit the bloody waves that closed over 
slaughtered hosts. 

Westward lay green, wimpling vales, studded with laurel, 
arched with vine-draped pergolas, dotted with flocks, dim- 
pled with reedy marshes where red oxen browsed; and be- 
yond the pale pink flush of almond groves — 

“A smoke of blue olives, a vision of towers.” 

Bucolic paradise of Battus and Bombyce, of Corydon and 
Daphnis, may it please the hierophants of Sanskrit lore, of 
derivative Aryan philology, of iconoclastic euhemerism, to 
spare us yet awhile the lovely myths that dance across the 
asphodel meads of sunny Sicily. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


391 


On the verge of the parapet of the Latomia, where the 
breath of the sirocco, the gnawing tooth of time, and the 
slow ravelling of rain had serrated the ledge, stood Leo, 
gazing into the dizzying depths of the charnel house that 
swarmed with the ghosts of nine thousand men, who once 
were huddled within its stony embrace. 

As if pitying nature had striven to appease the manes of 
the unburied dead, a pall of luxuriant ivy and glossy acan- 
thus covered the bottom and sides of the quarry, one hun- 
dred feet below; but out of the dust of centuries stared the 
rayless eyes of corpses, and the gaunt despairing faces 
seemed still uplifted, now in invocation, anon in imprecation 
to the overarching sky, where blistering suns mocked them 
by day, and glittering moons and silver stars paused in their 
westward march through dewy night, to tell them tantalizing 
tales of how musically ^gean wavelets broke against the 
marbles at Piraeus; how loud the nightingales sang in the 
plane and poplar groves at home; how the white glory of 
the Parthenon smiled down on violet-crowned Athens, where 
their wives and children thronged the temples, in sacrificial 
rites to insure their safety. 

In crevices of the perpendicular walls lush creepers tapes- 
tried the gray stone, and far down, out of the mould of the 
subterranean dungeon, sprang slim lemon trees snowed over 
with fragrant bloom, clumps of oleander waving banners of 
vivid rose, and golden-green pomegranate bushes, where scar- 
let flakes glowed like the wings of tropical birds. 

“Well, is the game worth the candle? After voyaging 
thousands of miles, do you feel repaid; or down there, in 
the heart of the desolation, do you see only the grinning 
mask of jeering disappointment, which generally follows 
American realists into the dusty haunts of Old World ideal- 
ism ?” 

As she spoke, Alma Cutting stepped back under the cool 
canopy of a spreading fig-tree, and fanned herself with a 
tuft of papyrus leaves. She was a tall, handsome woman, 
pronouncedly brunette in type, with large black eyes whose 


392 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


customary indolent indifference of expression did not en- 
tirely veil the fires “banked” under the velvet iris; and a 
square, firm mouth, around whose full crimson lips lurked a 
certain haughtiness, that despite the curb of good breeding, 
bordered at times closely upon insolence. Thirty years had 
tripped over this dark head, where the hair, innocent of 
crimp or curl, hung in a straight jet fringe low on her wide 
forehead; and though no lines marred the smooth, health- 
tinted skin, she was perceptibly “sun burnt by the glare of 
life,” and the dew of youth had vanished before the vam- 
pire lips of ennui. 

“Disappointed? Certainly not; and I were exacting and 
unreasonable indeed, if I did not feel abundantly repaid. 
Alma, since the days when I pored over Thucydides, Plu- 
tarch, Rollin and Grote, this spot has beckoned to my imag- 
ination with all the uplifted hands of the nine thousand cap- 
tives; and the longing of years is to-day completely grati- 
fied.” 

“Am I unusually stupid, or are you rapt, beyond the realm 
of reason and mid-day common sense? Pray what is the 
fascination? It is neither so vast, nor so picturesque as the 
Colosseum. There, one expects to hear the roar of the beasts 
springing on their human prey; the ring of steel on steel, 
when the gladiators have bowed like dancing-masters to the 
bloated old bald-headed Neros and Vespasians; and you 
fancy that you smell the fountains of perfume that toss their 
spray from tier to tier; and see the rainbow of the silk 
awning flapping overhead. Better than all, you imagine 
you can watch the ravishing toilettes of the Faustinas, and 
Fulvias and Messalinas who flirt with the handsome, straight- 
nosed beaux so immensely classical in their togas ; and when 
their thunder-browed husbands unexpectedly step in behind, 
it is so easy to conjecture the sudden change of theme, as 
they spread their fans to cover the message just written on 
their ivory tablets, and straightway fall to clawing the char- 
acters of all the Cornelias, and Calpurnias, and Octavias and 
Julia Domnas, and other respectable wives ! All that I quite 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


393 


enjoyed because I understood. Eight years’ campaigning 
in New York, and London and Paris would teach even an 
idiot that nineteenth century ‘best society’ can lift you so 
close to the naughtiness of the golden Roman era, that one 
only has to strain a very little on tip-toe, to feel at one’s 
ease with the jeunesse doree of dead ages. Here — what do 
you find in a huge stone well sunk into the bowels of the 
earth? About as enticing as a plunge into a dry cistern, 
suddenly unroofed? If spectres we must hunt, do let them 
be festive, like those Faust danced with on the Brocken!” 

“You should be ashamed, Alma ! Miss Gordon is the 
very soul of courteous toleration, or she would resent the 
teasing goad of your Philistinism,” cried the brother. Rivers 
Cutting, who in his new style yachting suit of blue cloth 
appeared veritably the jaunty genius of fashionable mod- 
ernity, confronting the ghost of antiquity. 

“You forget. Rivers, some of the sage dicta you brought 
back from the ‘Summer School of Philosophy’, when you 
followed your last Boston flame to Concord, where she went 
poaching on the sacred preserves of the ‘Illuminati,’ hunt- 
ing a new sensation. ‘We must be as courteous to human 
beings as we are to a picture, which we are willing to give 
the advantage of a good light.’ Now being Leo’s very sin- 
cere friend, and knowing that the supreme moment of her 
facial triumph is when, like a startled fawn, she opens her 
eyes wide in horrified amazement at some inconceivable 
heresy, do you suppose I am so recreant to loyalty as to fail 
in providing her occasionally with the necessary Gorgon, 
ethical or archaeological, as surroundings warrant? 

“History was never the fetich of my girlhood, and that 
quartette of dry-as-dust worthies whom Leo carries around 
in leash, as other women carry pugs and poodles, came near 
giving me meningitis in my tender years. My first gov- 
erness, a Puritan spinster, full of zeal, and conscientiously 
bent on earning her wages, by exercising my brains to their 
utmost capacity, undertook to introduce me to all the highly 
immoral personages and practices that made the Punic Wars 


394 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


famous. By way of making Imilco a lifelong acquaintance, 
she illustrated the siege of Agrigentum by a huge, hideous 
image of Phalaris’ ‘Brazen Bull,' drawn with chalk on the 
school-room blackboard. 

“A wonderful beast it certainly was; that taurus with 
head lowered, tail lashing the air, one hoof pawing sav- 
agely, worthy representative of all the horrors it typified, 
and which she explained with maddening perspicuity. That 
night, when papa tore himself away from the club room at 
one o’clock, and met mamma on the doorstep — ^just com- 
ing home from a supper at Delmonico’s after an opera party 
— they were ascending the stairs, when frantic cries drove 
from her ears the echoes of ‘Traviata’s’ witching strain. 
Thinking only a conflagration would justify the din, papa 
threw up the hall sash and shouted ‘fire!’ and the police 
sounded the alarm, and all pandemonium broke loose. In- 
vestigation discovered me, wriggled half way down to the 
foot of my bed, buried under the blankets, and shrieking 
‘Perillus’ Bull ! I api roasting in the Brass Bull !’ Being 
not very ardent disciples of Clio, my solicitous parents failed 
to understand the nightmare; hence cracked ice was folded 
over my head (mid-winter), and the family physician or- 
dered a mustard plaster half a yard long, down my spine. 
I vividly remember Imilco, and the bovine fury pawing 
the blackboard; but of the three Punic Wars, then and 
there tabooed, I recall only the brass monster at Agrigen- 
tum. Leo, when we reach Girgenti, the remaining Mecca 
of your historic hopes, some time to-morrow, you will un- 
derstand why, instead of climbing to the temples of the clifif, 
I shall lock the door of our cabin, and drown the bellowing 
of the beast in Daudet’s new book.” 

“I wish, indeed I do, that you had staid there to-day, 
instead of coming ashore to dampen all our ardor and en- 
thusiasm by your constant thin drizzle of scorn. One should 
suppose that in this idyllic region, some ray of poetic warmth 
must melt your frigid, scoffing soul. Daudet suits my sis- 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


395 

ter far better than Theocritus/^ answered her brother, fasten- 
ing a sprig of orange blossom in his button hole. 

Pushing back her sailor hat, Alma looked obliquely at 
him from beneath her drooping lids. 

“Try me. Perhaps infection haunts the air. Spare us 
the Greek, come down from your Yale and Harvard heights 
to the level of my ignorance, and warble for me in English 
some of your Sicilian lark’s melodies. At least I have heard 
of Amaryllis and Simaetha.” 

Mr. Cutting shook his head. 

“What — ? Ashamed of your bucolic hobby! No wonder 
— since after all it’s only a goat. I dare you, brother mine, 
to produce me a Theocritan fragment.” 

“Take the consequences of your rash levity; though I 
have a dawning suspicion some Tmp of the Perverse’ has 
coached you for the occasion.” 

He stroked his mustache, pondered a moment, then struck 
an attitude, and declaimed : 

“I go a serenading to Amaryllis; what time my flocks 
browse on the mountains, and Tityrus drives them. Tityrus 
beloved of me in the highest degree, feed my flocks and lead 
them to the fountain, etc.” 

Mimicking his tone exactly, Alma finished the line: 

“And mind, Tityrus, that tawny Libyan he-goat lest he 
butt thee !’ Come, Rivers ; free translation is allowable, con- 
sidering surroundings, but not garbling; and every time 
you know you substituted flocks for goats. Proceed, and 
do not insult your pet author with emendations.” 

With his hat on the back of his head, and his thumbs in 
the armholes of his vest, Mr. Cutting resumed: 

“Sweet Amaryllis! though by death defiled, 

Thee shall I ne’er forget; dear to my heart 
As are my frisking goats, thou did’st depart. 

To what a lot— was I, unhappy, born!” 

Again the mocking voice responded: 

“But see ! yon calves devour 

The olive branches. Pelt them off I pray. 

“Confound the calves! ‘St ! you white-skin thief— 


396 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


away !’ Thanks, no more at present. Doubtless it sounds 
very fine in Greek, because then, I could not possibly under- 
stand that it is the melody and the rhythmic dance of bleat- 
ing calves, and capering goats. Here come the stragglers 
laden with plunder. Oh, papa ! Do give me those exquisite 
acacia clusters.” 

“My dear, I have ordered luncheon spread down there, 
in that strange garden. It is the queerest place imaginable ; 
and looking up, the effect is quite indescribable.” 

“Have you had the skulls polished for drinking cups, 
and printed the menus on cross-bones ? What shocking taste 
to add insult to injury by spreading all our wealth of 
canned dainties on the very stones where sit the ghosts 
of those who perished from hunger and thirst ! Eminently 
Dantesque, but the sacrilege appalls Le-o. She would sooner 
attend an oyster supper, or a clam-bake in the Catacombs, 
or — ” bowing to a young Englishman standing near, “lead 
a German in the Poets’ corner of Westminster Abbey. My 
dear girl, under which flag do you fight? Athenian, Ro- 
man, Carthagenian, Syracusan? 

“The child of a man who fell in defence of his own fire- 
side, could scarcely fail to sympathize with the holy cause 
of the invaded; yet here, in view of the horrors inflicted 
upon the captives, one almost leans to Athens. It seems to 
me the most enduring monument of Syracusan glory sur- 
vives in the eloquent protest of Nicolaus against her cruelty ; 
especially when we recollect that it came from one who, of 
all others, had most to forgive. Old, decrepit, unable to 
walk, the venerable sorrow-laden man whose only children, 
two sons, had died fighting to save Syracuse — was carried 
on a litter into the midst of the shouting thousands, who 
were drunk with the wine of victory. ‘Behold an unhappy 
father, who has most cause to detest the Athenians, the 
authors of this war, the murderers of my children ! But I 
am less sensible of my private afflictions than of the honor 
of my country, when I see it ready to expose itself to eter- 
nal infamy by violating the law of nations, and dishonor- 


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397 


ing our victory by barbarous cruelty. What ! Will you 
tarnish your glory, and have all the world say that a nation 
who first dedicated a temple in their city, to Clemency, 
found none in yours? Triumphs and victories do not give 
immortal glory to a city; but the use of moderation in the 
greatest prosperity, the exercise of mercy toward a van- 
quished enemy, the fear of offending the gods by a haughty 
and insolent pride.’ What a theme for Dore or Munkacsy?” 

“Thank you ever so much. Miss Gordon, for brushing 
away the library dust from that historic cameo. I had so 
utterly forgotten it lay in the musty tomes, that it has all 
the charm of a curioT Mr. Cutting took off his hat, and 
bowed. 

“Acknowledgments are due rather to my cousin. Dr. Doug- 
lass, who called my attention to the passage. The best of 
all things good abide with him; and out of his overflowing 
store, he shares with the needy. Only last night he re- 
minded me of an illustration of the vanifas vanitatum of 
human fame and national gratitude, to be found over yon- 
der in the necropolis. Less than a hundred and forty years 
after his death, Archimedes was so completely forgotten by 
the city he had immortalized, that Syracuse denied he was 
buried on her soil; and a foreigner had the honor of clear- 
ing away rubbish and brambles, in order to show the grave 
to his own countrymen.” 

Leighton Douglass handed to his cousin a bunch of the 
delicate lilac blossoms of acanthus, tied with a wisp of some 
ribbon-like grass, and taking off his spectacles, replied : 

“Leo unduly exalts my memory at the expense of her 
own ; and we have all levied heavily on her fund oL topo- 
graphical accuracy.” 

“If I travel much longer with two such learned and phil- 
osophical scholars, I shall inevitably degenerate into an in- 
tellectual Dodder,” yawned Alma. 

“Into a what?” asked her father. 

“A Dodder, sir. Pray, papa, be more considerate than 
to force Doctor Douglass to believe that instead of listen- 


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ing to the sermon he preached us last year, you either slept 
ignominiously throughout its delivery, or else allowed your 
unregenerate thoughts to dwell on those devices of Lu- 
cifer, ‘puts,’ ‘calls,’ ‘spreads,’ ‘corners,’ ‘spots’ and ‘futures’. 
Of course you remember that he believes in evolution? 
There was a time, even in my extremely recent day, when 
that word was more frightful to the orthodox than a ton of 
nitro-glycerine ; was to the elect, a fouler abomination even 
than opera bouffe and the can can. But ‘the thoughts of 
men are widened with the process of the suns’, and now it 
appears that the immortal soul of us must be evolved, some- 
what in the same fashion as protoplasm, and unless we fight 
for ‘survival’ elsewhere, we shall not be numbered among 
the spirited ‘fittest’, but degenerate into parasites, dodders, 
backsliders. So, drawing nutriment from the Doctor’s his- 
toric brains, and from Leo’s, I fall back into worse than a 
dodder, a torpid violator of the Law of Work, a hopeless 
Sacculina ! Doctor Douglass, it was the bravest hour of 

your life when you stood up in church pulpit, and 

told us the scientists whom we were wont to regard as 
more dreadful than the cannibals and Calmucks, are only 
a devoted sect of truth seekers, preaching from older texts, 
and drawing nearer and nearer to the kingdom of Heaven. 
To throw that ethical bomb, required more courage than 
Balaklava.” 

“Mine was merely a feeble attempt to follow out the ana- 
logical reasoning of one of the most original and scientific 
thinkers of our day in Great Britain; but the fact that you 
recall so correctly the line of argument in a sermon deliv- 
ered more than a year ago, is certainly complimentary as- 
surance of at least approximate success in my effort.” 

“After all, I am sorry I humored Leo’s whim, and per- 
suaded papa to bring us here.” 

“Why, my dear? We are enjoying it immensely,” said 
her father. 

“Because Syracuse has proved my ‘crumpled rose leaf’, 
by destroying the prestige of the ‘Cleopatra’. Hitherto, I 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


399 


deemed our yacht quite the most complete and gorgeous 
floating palace since the days of its highly improper name- 
sake’s marauding sails on the Cydnus.” 

^‘And so she is ; there is nothing afloat comparable to 
her in speed, appointments, comfort and beauty,” interrupted 
Mr. Cutting. 

“Poor papa ! How he bristles at the bare suggestion of 
rivalry. Be comforted, sir, in the knowledge that at least 
we shall not be run down by a phantom cruiser. It is very 
humiliating to American pride — after winning the interna- 
tional prizes, and boasting so inordinately, to find out that 
we are only about — how many centuries, Leo? — twenty-five 
centuries behind Syracuse in building pleasure crafts. Think 
of a superb cabin with staterooms containing beds (not 
bunks) for one hundred and twenty guests, and the floors 
all covered with agates and other precious stones, that formed 
a mosaic copy of the Iliad ! If you wished to emphasize a 
discussion on connubial devotion, behold ! there on your 
right, Andromache and Hector; if one’s husband objected to 
a harmless flirtation, lo ! on the left, Agamemnon and Bri- 
seis; and to point the moral of ‘pretty is, as pretty does’ — 
how very convenient to indicate with the tip of your satin 
slipper, the demure figure of Helen standing on the walls, 
to watch the duel between Menelaus and Paris! Fancy the 
consolation a person of my indolent Sacculina temperament 
might have derived from the untimely fate of Cassandra, 
oppressed with knowledge in advance of her day and gen- 
eration ! There was the gymnasium for the beaux ; and for 
the belles hona Ude gardens, with walks and arbors covered 
with ivy and flowering vines whose roots rested in great 
stone vessels filled with earth. Imagine the boudoir and 
bathrooms paved with precious stones, encrusted with carved 
ivory and statues — ” 

“Pooh ! Alma. That rigmarole is not in the guide 
books. Come, Dixon is waving his handkerchief down there, 
as a signal that luncheon is ready.” 

“I prefer to wait here. Alma, bring me some anemones, 


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and a sprig of ivy from the circular garden, when you come 
back,” said Leo. 

Doctor Douglass drew closer, and asked: 

“Will you let me stay also, and enjoy with you the won- 
derful charm of this opalescent air, this beautiful cincturing 
sea?” 

“I would rather be alone. Solitude is a luxury rarely al- 
lowed on a yacht cruise; and I want a few quiet moments. 
By day, poor Aunt Patty has so much to tell me; at night, 
Alma is a chattering owl.” 

There are hours when the ghost of a happy past, from 
which we have persistently fled, constrains us to give audi- 
ence; and Leo surrendered herself to memories that brought 
a very mournful shadow into her brave brown eyes. Thir- 
teen months had passed since her departure from X 

and despite changing scenes and novel incidents, she could 
not escape the haunting face that met her on mountains, 
was mirrored in every sea; the brilliant mesmeric face set 
in its frame of crisp black locks, with dark blue eyes whose 
intense lustre had the cold, hard gleam of jewels. Sleep- 
ing or waking, always that dear, powerful face daring her 
to forget. 

When Doctor Douglass and Miss Patty joined the yacht 
party at Palermo, the former had brought a letter and a 
package, which sorely tested Leo’s strength of will. Lean- 
ing to-day against the twisted body of an old olive tree, she 
opened and read once more, the final message. 

“When Leighton places this sheet in your hands, the year 
of release which I could not refuse you, will have expired. 
Once your noble heart was wholly mine; and the proudest 
moment of my life was, and will be, that in which you 
promised to be my wife. All that you ever were, you shall 
always remain to me; and if you can confide your happiness 
to my keeping, I will never betray the sacred trust. Life has 
grown sombre to me, during the past eighteen months ; and 
the only companionship that I can hope to cheer it, you 
alone can bring me. I have not willingly or intentionally 
forfeited your confidence; but that I have suffered, I shall 
not deny. If you love me, as in days gone by, our future 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


401 


rests once more in your hands; and you must renew the 
pledges that at your request I surrendered. In behalf of our 
past, I beg that you will retain the ring, hallowed forever 
by the touch of your hand; and its acceptance will typify, 
if not a renewal of our engagement, at least the perpetuity 
of a sacred friendship. Awaiting your final decision, I am, 
my dear Leo, 

“Yours as of yore, Lennox.” 

All t-hat she had ever been; no more. The graceful, well- 
bred heiress whom he admired, who commanded his pro- 
foundest respect, whom he had known from his boyhood, 
and who of all others he had desired should preside over 
his home and wear his name ; but not the woman who reigned 
in his heart; whose touch had lighted the glowing tender- 
ness that so transfigured his countenance, as she saw it that 
day, bending over a sick convict in a penitentiary. 

He offered her formal allegiance, and that pale phantom 
of affection grounded in reverence, which is to the ardent 
love that a true woman demands in exchange for her own, 
as — 

“Moonlight unto sunlight; and as water unto wine.” 

She knew that he was no willing victim of a fascination, 
which had audaciously deranged his carefully mapped cam- 
paign of life; that he would have set his heel on his own in- 
surgent heart, had it been possible ; and she honored him for 
the stern integrity that forbade his affectation of a warmth 
of feeling which she was now conscious she had never 
evoked. 

Accepting the theory that the young convict was sustained 
and animated by her devotion to a guilty lover, Leo fully 
understood that Lennox, even were he mad enough to sac- 
rifice his pride, could indulge no expectation of ever winning 
the love of the prisoner; and despite her efforts to regard 
their rupture as final, she had faintly hoped that he would 
cross the ocean, and in person urge a renewal of the be- 
trothal. The test of absence had proved as effectual as 
she intended it should be, and his letter proclaimed the 
humiliating fact, that while honor inspired him to hold out 


402 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


his wrists for conjugal manacles, honor equally constrained 
him to spare her the wrong and insult of insincere profes- 
sions of tenderness. 

Had she found it possible to condemn him as unworthy, it 
would have diminished the pain of surrendering the brightest 
hope of her life; for contempt is the balm a lofty soul of- 
fers a bruised heart, but she was just, even in her anguish; 
and that when barbed the arrow, was the mortifying con- 
sciousness that compassion for her was the strongest motive 
which dictated the carefully phrased letter. She was far 
too proud to parley with the temptation to accept the shadow 
in lieu of the substance; and twenty-four hours after the ar- 
rival of the final appeal, her answer was speeding with 
wings of steam across the ocean. 

*‘Dear Lennox: 

“My heart overflows with gratitude for all the affectionate 
interest, the kind solicitude, the innumerable thoughtful at- 
tentions you have so indefatigably shown to Aunt Patty, in 
the sad complication of misfortunes that so suddenly over- 
whelmed her; and I feel the inadequacy of any attempt to 
express my thanks. Your letter can only rivet more indis- 
solubly the links of an affectionate friendship that must 
always bind you and me ; but the future can hold no renewal 
of pledges which I feel assured would conduce neither to 
your happiness, nor to mine. Let us embalm the past and 
bury it tenderly; raising no mound to trip our friendly feet 
in years to come. The serenity of our future might be 
marred by retrospective gleams of the beautiful ring that 
once enclosed two lives; hence, I have ordered the diamonds 
reset in the form of a four-leaved clover, which will be sent 
to dear Kittie as an auspicious omen. 

“With undiminished esteem, and unshaken confidence, and 
with a prayer for your happiness, which will always be dear 
to me, I remain, 

“Your sincerely attached friend, 

“Leo.” 

The majority of men, and a large class of women, bury 
their dead, and straightway begin assiduously the cultivation 
of all that promises oblivion; but Leo’s nature was deeper, 
more intense; and while she made no audible moan, and 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


403 


shed no tears, she accepted the fact that earthly existence 
had lost its coveted crown, and that her aching heart was 
the dark grave of a beautiful hope that could know no resur- 
rection. To-day she asked herself; “What shall I do with 
my life?” 

Upon the warm air, sweet with the breath of lemon flowers, 
floated the peculiar, jeering, yet subdued and musical laugh- 
ter, which told that Alma had flown straight at some luck- 
less quarry. She held in one hand a cluster of crimson 
anemones, and purple stars of periwinkle, and walking be- 
tween two English gentlemen, whose yacht, the “Albatross”, 
lay anchored close to the “Cleopatra” in the harbor below, 
slowly approached Leo, saying: 

“Don’t stone your prophets. Especially one hedged about 
with the triple sanctity of Brasenose! ‘Consider that thy 
marbles are but the earth’s callosities, thy gold and silver its 
faeces; thy silken robe but a worm’s bedding; and thy purple 
an unclean fish.’ That is one sugar-coated pill that I ad- 
minister to my humility now and then to keep it healthy. 
Hear him again; — ‘sitting on the marble bench of one of 
the exhedrce on the edge of the Appian Way, close to the 
fragrant borders of a rose farm’: ‘So it is, with the philos- 
ophers; all alike are in search of happiness, what kind of 
thing it is. It is pleasure, it is virtue; what not? All philos- 
ophers, so to speak, are but fighting about the ass’ shadow. I 
saw one who poured water into a mortar, and ground it with 
all his might with a pestle of iron, fancying he did a thing 
useful; but it remained water only, none the less.’ Stoicism, 
hedonism, the gospel of ‘Sweetness and Light’; what is it, 
may I ask, that your aesthetic priests furnish, to feed im- 
mortal British souls ? Knee breeches, sun flowers, niello, cre- 
tonne, Nanking bowls, lily dados? To us it savors sorrow- 
fully of that which one of your prophets foreshadowed, ‘De- 
spair, baying as the poet heard her, in the ruins of old 
Rome’.” 

“Beg pardon. Miss Cutting; but you quite surprise me. 
The tone of many American papers and magazines led us 


404 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


to suppose, really, that the rosy dawn of Culture was be- 
ginning to flush the night of Philistinism brooding over your 
Western world.” 

“Believe it not. Primeval gloom, raw realism so weigh 
upon our apathetic souls, that we rub our eyes and stare at 
sight of your aesthetic catechism : ‘Harmony, but no system ; 
instinct, but no logic; eternal growth and no maturity; 
everlasting movement, and nothing attained; infinite possi- 
bilities of everything; the becoming all things, the being 
nothing.’ We have too much Philistine honesty to pretend 
that we understand that, but like other ambitious parrots 
we can commit to memory. One of your seers tells us that: 
‘Renaissance art will make our lives like what seems one of 
the loveliest things in nature, the iridescent film on the face 
of stagnant water !’ Now it will require at least a decade, 
to train us to appreciate the subtile symphonies of ditch 
slime. An English friend compassionating my American 
stupidity, essayed to initiate me in the cult of ‘culture’, 
and gave me a leaf to study, from the latter-day gospel. I 
learned it after a time, as I did the multiplication table. 
‘Culture steps in, and points out the grossness of untempered 
belief. It tells us the beauty of picturesque untruth; the 
grotesqueness of unmannerly conviction ; truth and error 
have kissed each other in a sweet, serener sphere; this be- 
comes that, and that is something else. The harmonious, the 
suave, the well bred waft the bright particular being into a 
peculiar and reserved parterre of paradise, where bloom at 
once the graces of Panthism, the simplicity of Deism, and 
the pathos of Catholicism; where he can sip elegances and 
spiritualities from flowerets of every faith !’ Fancy my crass 
ignorance, when I assure you that I actually laughed over 
that verbal syllabub, thinking it intended r s a famous bit of 
satire.” 

“Then it is pathetically true that reverence for the Ren- 
aissance has not crossed the Atlantic?” asked one of the 
“Albatross” party, who with his sketch book half open, was 
surreptitiously making an “impressionist” view of Leo’s pro- 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


405 

file, as she stood listening to Alma’s persiflage, and mechan- 
ically arranging her lilac acanthus blossoms. 

“Devoted British colporteurs have philanthropically scat- 
tered a few art primers and tracts, and there is a possibility 
that in the near future, our people may search the maps for 
Orvieto, and the dictionaries for Campo Santo, to com- 
pass the mysteries of the ‘Triumph of Death’, and of 
‘Symmetria Prisca’. Some of us have even heard of ‘Au- 
cassin et Nicolette’, and of ‘Nencia da Barberino’, picking 
salad in her garden; and I am almost sure a Vassar girl once 
spoke to me of Della Quercia’s Ilaria; but with all my na- 
tional pride, candor compels me to admit that it is a ‘far 
cry’ to the day when we can devoutly fall on our knees 
before the bronze Devil of Giovanni da Bologna. ^Esthetic 
paupers, we sit on the lowest bench at the foot of the class, 
in your Dame’s Art School, to learn the alphabet of the 
wonderful Renaissance; and in our chastened and reverent 
mood, it almost takes our breath away when your high- 
priestess unrolls the last pronunciamento, and tells us her 
startling story of ‘Euphorion!’ Why? Ah! — don’t you 
know ? The Puritan leaven of prudery, and the stern, stolid, 
phlegmatic decorum of Knickerbockerdom mingle in that con- 
summate flower of the nineteenth century Occident, the 
‘American Girl’, who pales and flushes at sight of the car- 
nival of the undraped — in English art and literature. Here, 
Leo, take your anemones; red, are they not, as the blood 
once chilled down yonder, in that huge stone kennel? Dr. 
Douglass has the ivy root; and he and I have concluded, 
that after all, Syracuse was not more cruel here in the La- 
tomia, than some States in America, where convicts are 
leased to mining companies, and kept quarrying coal, with- 
out even the sweet consolation of staring up at this magical 
blue sky. We leave hideous moral and physical leprosy at 
home, and come here to shed dilettante tears over classic 
tatters twenty-five centuries old! O immortal and ubiquitous 
Tartufe !” 

As Leo walked with her cousin toward the spot, where 


4o6 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


the “Cleopatra” rose and fell on the crest of waves racing 
before Libeccio, she suddenly laid her hand on his arm. 

“Leighton, I have decided to leave the yacht at Venice 
and take Aunt Patty to Udine for rest and quiet. When 
summer is over, I shall be ready to make arrangements for 
the journey to Syria and Egypt, and you must complete your 
church mission to England in time to accompany us to 
Jerusalem.” 

“Is this your itinerary, or Aunt Patty’s?” 

“She has set her heart upon it; and it will be agreeable 
to me.” 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

Is it true that in abstract valuation, “the bird in hand, is 
worth two in the bush ?” 

We stand beneath a loaded apricot tree, and would give 
all the bushel within reach, for one crimson satin globe pen- 
dent on the extreme tip of the most inaccessible bough; and 
the largest, luscious, richest colored orange always glows 
defiantly, high up, close to the body of the tree, hedged away 
from our eager grasp by its impenetrable chevaux de frise 
of bristling thorns. The wonderful water lily we covet is 
smiling on its green cushion of leaves just beyond the danger 
line, where death lurks; the rhododendron flame that burned 
brightest amid surrounding floral fires, and lured us, springs 
from the crevice of some beetling precipice, waving a chal- 
lenge over fatal chasms that bar possession; and with fret- 
ful dissatisfaction we repine, because the colors of the feath- 
ered captives in our gilt cages are so dull, so faded in com- 
parison with their brothers, flashing wings of scarlet, and 
breasts of vivid blue high in the sunlight of God’s free air. 

The gold and silver dust that powder velvet butterflies, 
tarnish at a touch, stain the fingers that clutch them; and 
the dewy bloom on purple and amber grape clusters, never 
survives the handling of the vintager. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


407 


Leaning back in the revolving chair in front of his office 
desk, Mr. Dunbar slowly tore into strips a number of notes 
and letters, and suffered the fragments to fall into a waste 
basket somewhat faded, yet much too elegant to harmonize 
with its surroundings. 

When Leo quilted the lining of ruby silk and knotted the 
ribbons that tied it to the wicker lace work, love pelted 
her cheek with roses, and happy hope sang so loud in her 
ear, that she could not have divined the cruel fact that she 
was preparing the dainty coffin, destined to receive the mu- 
tilated remains of a betrothal, that typified supreme earthly 
happiness to her. One by one dropped the shreds of Leo’s 
last message from Palermo, like torn crumpled petals of a 
once beloved and sacred flower; and the faint, delicate per- 
fume that clung to the fragments, was one which Mr. Dun- 
bar recognized as characteristic of the library at the “Li- 
lacs”. The contents of the farewell note had in no degree 
surprised him ; for though fully persuaded that her heart was 
irrevocably pledged to the past, he was equally sure that 
only the ardor he scorned to feign, would avail to melt the 
wall of ice her outraged pride had built between them. 
There were times when he deplored bitterly the loss of her 
companionship; at others he exulted in the consciousness of 
perfect freedom to indulge an overmastering love, amenable 
to no chastisement by violated loyalty. He had scrupulously 
endeavored, by careful employment of forms of deference, 
to spare his betrothed as far as possible, the stinging humilia- 
tion and anguish which every woman suffers, when the man 
whom she loves shows her that she fills only a subordinate 
and insignificant place in his affection; and yet, while her 
nobler nature commanded his homage, and the brilliancy of 
the alliance seems to jeer at his blind fatuity, his heart 
throbbed and yearned with an intolerable longing for one 
upon whom the world had set the seal of an ineradicable dis- 
grace. 

Nature and education had made him a coldly calculating 
man, jealous of his honor, but immersed in schemes for his 


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AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


own aggrandizement, and superbly invulnerable to the blan- 
dishments of sentimentality; hence his amazement, when the 
deep and engrossing love of his life burned away that self- 
ishness which was citadel of his affections. Because his 
infatuation had cost him so much, that was alluring alike 
to vanity, pride, and ambition, a fierce hunger for revenge 
possessed him; and herein differs the nature of the love of 
men and women; the one can sacrifice itself for the happi- 
ness of the beloved; the other will crucify its darling to ap- 
pease jealous pangs in view of happiness it can neither in- 
spire nor share. 

“Good morning, Churchill. Come in. Glad to see you. 
Sit down.” 

“When did you get back, Lennox?” 

“Last night.” 

“Well, what luck?” 

“A rather leaky promise. Kneading slag or cold pig iron 
into Bessemer steel would be about as easy as pounding the 
law of evidence into the Governor’s brains. I emphasized 
the moral weight of the petition, by calling his attention to 
the signatures of the judge, jury, prosecuting counsel and 
especially of Prince, who presumably has most to forgive. 
The memorial of the inspectors, warden and physician was 
appended, and constituted a eulogy upon the behavior and 
character of the prisoner; especially the heroic service ren- 
dered by her during the recent fatal epidemic. Human na- 
ture is an infernally vexing bundle of paradoxes, and when 
a man throws his conscience in your teeth, what then? The 
argument from which I hoped most, proved a Greek horse, 
and well-nigh wrought ruin. When I dwelt upon the fact 
that the prisoner had voluntarily conveyed to Prince all 
right and title to the fortune, which was supposed to have 
tempted her to commit the crime, he bristled like a Skye 
terrier, and grandiloquently assured me he valued his ‘pre- 
rogative as something too sacred to be prostituted to nepot- 
ism !’ Prince being his cousin, a readiness to exercise 
Executive clemency by pardoning the prisoner, might be 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


409 


construed into a species of bargain and sale; and his Ex- 
cellency could not condone a crime merely because the cul- 
prit had relinquished a fortune to his relative. Braying 
an ordinary fool in a mortar is an unpromising job; but an 
extraordinary official leatherhead, plus thin-skinned con- 
science, and religious scruples, requires the upper and nether 
mill stone. You know, Churchill, it is tough work to 
straighten a crooked ramrod.” 

“I see; a case of moral curvature of the spine. When he 
was inaugurated last December, I chanced to bp. at the Cap- 
ital, and heard two old codgers from the piney woods felici- 
tating the State upon having a Governor, Tit to tie to ; hon- 
est as the day is long, and walks so straight, he is powerful 
swaybacked.’ Dunbar, did he refuse outright?” 

“He holds the matter in abeyance for maturer delibera- 
tion; but promises that, unless he sees cogent reasons to the 
contrary, he may grant a pardon when eighteen months of 
the sentence have expired. That will be the last week in 
August, and almost two years since she was thrown into 
prison. I should have made application to his predecessor, 
Glenbeigh, had I not been so confident of overtaking the man 
who killed Gen’l Darrington; but the clue that promised so 
much merely led me astray. I went with the detective down 
into the mines, and found the man, who certaiiily had a 
hideous facial deformity, but he was gray as a badger, and 
moreover proved an alibi, having been sick with small-pox 
in the county pest-house on the night of the murder. It is a 
tedious hunt, but I will not be balked of my game. I will 
collar that wretch some day, and meantime I will get the 
pardon.” 

“I hope so; for I shall never feel easy until that poor girl 
is set free. The more I hear of her deportment and char- 
acter, especially of the religious influence she seems to be 
exerting through some Bible readings she holds among the 
female convicts, the more painfully am I oppressed with the 
conviction that we all committed a sad blunder, and nar- 
rowly escaped hanging an innocent woman.” 


410 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


‘‘Speak for yourself. I disclaim complicity in the dis- 
graceful wrong of the conviction.” 

“Well, I confess I would rather stand in your place than 
mine; especially since my wife’s brother Garland was called 
in as consulting physician, last month at the penitentiary. 
He has so stirred her sympathies for the woman whom he 
pronounces a paragon of all the virtues and graces, that I 
begin to fidget now at the sound of the prisoner’s name, and 
can hardly look my wife straight in the face. When I go 
up to court next week, I will call on the Governor, and 
add a personal appeal to the one I have already signed. Ac- 
cording to the evidence, she is guilty; but when justice is 
vindicated, one can afford to listen to the dictates of pity. 
Now, Dunbar, let me congratulate you on your recent good 
luck. We hear wonderful accounts of your new fortune.” 

“Rumor always magnifies such matters; still it is true that 
I have inherited a handsome estate.” 

“Does your sister share equally?” 

“A very liberal legacy was left to her, but you are aware 
that I was named for my mother’s brother, Randall Len- 
nox, and he has for many years regarded me as his heir; 
hence, gave me the bulk of the property.” 

“It is rather strange that he never married. I recall him 
as a very distinguished looking man.” 

“He had a love affair very early in life, while at col- 
lege, with the daughter of his Greek professor. Surrepti- 
tiously he took her to drive one afternoon, and the horse be- 
came frightened, ran away and killed the girl. He was a 
peculiar man, and seems never to have swerved from his 
allegiance to her memory.” 

“I hope it is not true that the conditions of the will re- 
quire you to remove from X and settle in New Orleans ? 

We can’t afford to lose you from our bar.” 

“There are no restrictions in my Uncle Lennox’s will; 
the legacy was unconditional; but the obligation of comply- 
ing with his urgent desire to have me live in New Orleans 
will probably induce me to make that my future home. For 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


411 

several years he has associated me with him in the conduct 
of some important suits; and I understand now, that his 
motive was to introduce me gradually to a new field of pro- 
fessional labor. Not the least valuable of my new posses- 
sions is his superb law library, probably the finest in the 
South. Of course my business will keep me here, for the 
present, and I have matured no plans."’ 

“Did you reach New Orleans before his death?” 

“No, I was in Dakota, and missed a letter designed to ac- 
quaint me with his illness. While in Washington on my 
return, arguing a case before the Supreme Court, a telegram 
was forwarded from the office here, and I hurried off by the 
first train, but arrived about ten hours too late. Another 
grudge I have to settle with that bloody thief, when I un- 
earth him.” 

“After all, Dunbar, you are a deucedly lucky fellow, — and 
— Hello ! historic Hebrew ! Bedney, have you seen a ghost ?” 

“Yes — Mars Alfred — two of ’em.” 

Spent with fatigue, panting, with an ashen pallor on his 
leathery, wrinkled face, the old negro ran in to the office, 
and leaned heavily against the oak table. 

“What is the matter? Positively, you are turning a 
grayish white. What is the secret of the bleaching? Po- 
lice after you? Or does the Sheriff want you?” 

“Mars Alfred, this ain’t no fitter, time to crack your on’- 
Gawdly jokes, for I am scared all but into fits. I started in a 
brisk walk, but every step I got more and more afeered to 
look behind, and I struk a fox trot, and now my wind is clean 
gone.” 

“What is the trouble? What are you running from?” 

“’Fore Gawd, Mars. Alfred, sperrits! Sperrits, sir.” 

“Do you mean that you want a dram to steady your 
nerves ?” 

“I’m that flustrated I couldn’t say what I want; but I 
didn’t signify bottle and jimmyjohn liquor, I mean sperrits, 
sir, ghosts what walk, and make the hair rise like wire all 
over your head. The ole house is hanted shore ’nuff; and I 


412 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


can’t stay there. Lem’me tell you, Lord ! Mars Alfred, 
don’t laugh ! It’s the Gawd’s truth, ole Marster’s sperrit is 
fighting up yonder in his room with the man what killed 
him. I seen him, in the broad daylight, and I have cum 
for you and Mars Lennox to git there, jest as quick as you 
kin, so you kin see it fur yourselves. I know you won’t 
believe it till you see it ; nuther should I, but it’s there. The 
sperrits have cum back, to show my young mistiss’ child 
never killed her grandpa.” 

Mr. Dunbar rose quickly, handed a glass of water to the 
old man, and then placed a chair for him. 

“Tell me at once what you saw.” 

“Ole Marster standin’ in the flo’ close to the vault, with 
his arm up so — and the handi’on in his own hand — ” 

“How dare you come here, with this cock-and-bull story? 
You are either drunk or in your dotage. Your master has 
been in his grave for eighteen months, and — ” 

“Oh ! to be shore I know’d what you’d say. Cuss me for 
an idjut; but I swar. Mars Lennox, I am that scared I dasn’t 
to tell you no lie. The proof of the pudden is jest chawin’ 
the bag, an’ I want you both to git a carridge quick, and 
take me up home; and if you don’t see what I tell you is 
thar, you may kick me from the front door clean down to 
the big gate. The grave is busted wide open, and the dead 
walks, for I seen him; and I’ll sho’ him to you. Come on, 
I want you to see for yourself.” 

“You imbecile old nincompoop! Go home, and tell Dyce 
to give you some catnip tea, and tie you to a chair,” laughed 
Mr. Churchill. 

“You’ll laugh t’other side of your mouth. Mars Alfred, 
when you see that awful sight up yonder. Ole Marster has 
come back, to dare the name of his grandchile, for he and 
his murderer is a wrastling, and it ain’t no ’oman, it’s a 
man! A tall, pretty man, with beard on his face.” 

Mr. Dunbar struck a bell at his side, and a clerk came 
promptly from the rear room. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


413 


*‘Nesbitt, step over to the livery stable, and order a car- 
riage sent up at once.” Turning to Bedney he continued: 

“I suppose the gist of all your yarn-spinning is, that you 
have found a stranger prowling about the place. How did 
you discover him?” 

“Lem’me tell you, as fur as I can, how I cum to see ole 
Marster. Mr. Prince gin orders that the house should be 
opened and arred reglar, and he pintedly enjined us to have 
that room well cleaned and put in order. We had all pintedly 
gin it a wide berth, and kep’ ourselves on t’other side of 
the house, ’cause all such places is harryfying; but this 
morning, I thought I would open the outside blind door on 
the west gallery, and look in through the glass door. I 
know’d Mr. Prince had stirred round considerable in there, 
the day before he left, but I didn’t know he had drapped the 
curting what was looped back the last time I was inside. 
So I went up the steps and dared away a rose vine what 
was hanging low down from the i’on pillar of the piazzar, and 
almost screening the door, and I walked up, I did, and 
looked in. Lord Gawd Amighty ! The red curting was 
down on the inside, and I seen through it, I swar to Gawd 
I did, sir ! I seen clar spang through into that room, and 
thar stood Marster in his night clothes, jest so — and thar 
stood that murdering vil’yan close to him, holding the tin 
box so — and Marster, with the handi’on jest daring him to 
cum on — and — and oh ! I am glad to know my Marster 
was game to the last, died game ! Never show’d no white 
feather while thar was breath in his body. Mars Lennox, 
I jest drapped on my knees, and I trimbled, and my teeth 
chattered, and I felt the hair as it riz straight up. I 
was afeer’d to stay, and I was afeer’d to move ; but 
I shet my eyes and crawled back’ards easy to the 
aidge of the steps, and then run as fast as I could. I 
wanted Dyce to see, too, but the poor cretur is so crippled 
she can’t walk, and as she weighs two hundred and 
twenty pounds, I couldn’t tote her; so I tole her what I 
seen, and she sent me straight to find Mars Alfred fust, and 


414 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


you next. I run to Mars Alfred’s office, and he was out, so 
I kep’ on here. I know’d you lie’yers was barking up the 
wrong tree, and wrongfully pussecutin’ that poor young 
gal ; and now the very sperrits have riz up to testify fur her. 
If you two can face ole Marster’s ghost, and tell him you 
know better than he did who killed him, you’ve got better 
pluck and backbone than I give you credit fur.” 

“What did you eat last night, Bedney? Baked possum, 
and fried chitterlings? Evidently you have had a heavy 
nightmare.” 

Mr. Churchill drew a match across the heel of his boot, 
and lighted a cigar; locking quizzically at the old man, who 
was wiping the perspiration from his face. 

“There’s the carridg, I hear the wheels. Mars Lennox 
and Mars Alfred, there is one thing I insists on havin’. The 
law is all lop-sided from fust to last in this here case, and 
I want it squoze into shape, till t’other side swells out a lit- 
tle. I want the Crowner to go up yonder now, and hold 
another inquess. He’s done sot all wrong on the body, and 
now let him set on the sperrit if he kin. I’m in plum ear^ 
nest. The Crov/ner swore that poor young gal knocked 
Marster in the head with the handi’on; and yonder stands 
Marster, ready to brain that man — with that handi’on hilt 
tight in his own right hand. Now what I wants to know 
is, whar is the 'delcctihle corpus* what you lieyers argufied 
over ?” 

“You doting old humbug! If you decoy us on a wild 
goose chase I shall feel like cutting one of your ears off!” 

“Slit ’em both and welcome. Mars Alfred, if you don’t find 
I’m telling you the Gawd’s truth. I feel all tore up, root 
and branch, and if folks could be scared to death, I should 
be stretched out this minute on the west piazzar. I had my 
doubts about ghosts and sperrits, and I lost my religion when 
I cotch our preacher brandin’ one of my dappled crumple- 
horned hefers with his i’on; but Bedney Barrington is a 
changed pusson. Come on, let’s see which of you will dar 
to laugh up yonder.” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


415 


“Are you really bent on humoring this insane or idiotic 
vagary ?” asked Mr. Churchill, as he saw his companion take 
his hat and prepare to follow the negro, who had left the 
room. 

“His terror is genuine, and his superstitious tale is prob- 
ably the outer shell of some kernel of fact that may possibly 
be valuable. In cases of circumstantial evidence, you and I 
know the importance of looking carefully into the merest 
trifles. Come with me; you can spare an hour.” 

Leaving the carriage at the front entrance of the deserted 
and stately old house, the attorneys crossed the terrace and 
walked around to the western veranda, preceded by Bedney, 
who paused at the steps, and waved them to ascend. 

“Go up and see for yourselves. I am nigh as I want to 
git” 

The stone floor was strewn with branches of rose vine, 
and the pruning shears lay open upon them, just as they had 
fallen from the old man’s hand. The sun had passed several 
degrees below the meridian, and the shadows of the twisted 
iron columns were aslant eastward, but the glare of light 
shone on the plate-glass door, which was rounded into an 
arch at top, and extended within four inches of the surface 
of the floor, where it fitted into the wooden frame. It was 
one wide sheet, unbroken into panes, and on the outside dust 
had collected, and a family of spiders had colonized in the 
lower corner, spinning their gray lace quite across the base. 
It was evident that the Venetian blinds had long been closed, 
and recently opened, as a line of dust and dried drift leaves 
attested; and behind the glass hung the dull red, plush cur- 
tain, almost to the floor. 

Both gentlemen pressed forward, and looked in; but saw 
nothing. 

“Hang your head kinder sideways, down so, and look 
up, Mars Lennox.” 

Mr. Dunbar changed his position, and after an instant, 
started back. 


4i6 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


“Do you see it, Churchill? No hallucination; it is as 
plain as print, just like the negative of a photograph.” 

“Bless my soul! It beats the Chinese jugglers! What a 
curious thing !” 

“Stand back a little; you obstruct the light. Now, how 
clearly it comes out.” 

Printed apparently on the plush background, like the 
images in a camera, were the distinctly outlined and almost 
life-size figures of two men. Clad in a long gown, with 
loose sleeves, Gen’l Barrington stood near the hearth, bram 
dishinr^ the brass unicorn in one hand, the other thrown 
out and clinched; the face rather more than profile, scarcely 
three-quarters, was wonderfully distinct, and the hair much 
dishevelled. In front was the second portrait, that of a 
tall, slender young man who appeared to have suddenly 
wheeled around from the open vault, turning his counte- 
nance fully to view; while he threw up a dark, square ob- 
ject to ward off the impending blow. A soft wool hat pushed 
back, showed the curling hair about his temples, and the 
remarkable regularity of his handsome features; while even 
the plaid pattern of his short coat was clearly discernible. 

As the attorneys came closer, or stepped back from the 
door, the images seemed to vary in distinctness, and viewed 
from two angles they became invisible. 

Mr. Churchill stared blankly; Mr. Dunbar’s gaze was riv- 
eted on the face of the burglar, and he took his underlip 
between his teeth, as was his habit in suppressing emotion. 

“Of course there is some infernal trick about this; but 
how do you account for it? It is beyond Bedney’s sleight 
of hand,” said the District Solicitor. 

“I think I understand how it came here. Bedney, go 
around and open the library door leading into this room, and 
loop back the curtain for a moment.” 

“No, sir. Mars Lennox. Forty railroad ingines couldn’t 
pull me in there alive. I wouldn’t dar tamper with ole 
Marster’s ghost; not for all the money in the bank. Go 
yourself; I doesn’t budge on no sech bizness as prying and 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


417 


spying amongst the sperrits. It would fling me into a fit.’" 

“You miserable coward. Is the house open? Where is 
the key of this room?” 

“Hanging on the horseshoe under my chimbly board. I’ll 
fetch it and unlock the front door, so you kin git in, and 
hold your inquess inside.” 

“Will you go, Churchill, or shall I ?” 

“What is your idea?” 

“To ascertain whether the images are on the glass, as I 
believe, and if they can be seen without the background. 
Stand just here — and watch. When I pull back the curtain, 
tell me the effect.” 

Some moments later, the red folds shook, swayed aside, 
the curtain was pushed out of sight on its brass rod. The 
interior of the apartment came into view, the articles of 
furniture, the face and figure of Mr. Dunbar. 

“Is it still there; do you see it?” shouted the latter. 

“No. It vanished with the curtain. Drop it back. There ! 
I see it. Now loop it. Gone again. Must be on the cur- 
tain,” shouted the Solicitor, peering through the glass at his 
colleague. 

Mr. Dunbar turned a key on the inside, pushed back a 
bolt, and threw open the door, which swung outward on the 
veranda. Then he carefully let fall the plush curtain once 
more. 

“Do you see it?” 

“No. A blank show. I can’t see into the trick. Dunbar, 
change places with me and satisfy yourself.” 

The solicitor went inside, and Mr. Dunbar watched from 
the veranda a repetition of the experiment. 

“That will do, Churchill. It is all plain enough now, but 
you cease to wonder at Bedney’s superstitious solution. You 
understand it perfectly, don’t you?” 

“No, I’ll be hanged if I do! It is the queerest thing I 
ever saw.” 

“Do you recollect that there was a violent thunder-storm 
the night of the murder?” 


4i8 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


“Since you mention it, I certainly recall it. Go on.” 

“All the witnesses testified that next morning this door 
was closed as usual, but the outside blinds were open, and 
the red curtain was looped back.” 

“Yes, I remember all that.” 

“The images are printed on the glass, and were photo- 
graphed by a flash of lightning.” 

“I never heard of such a freak. Don’t believe it.” 

“Nevertheless it is the only possible solution; and I know 
that several similar instances have been recorded. It is like 
the negative of a common photograph, brought out by a dark 
background ; and do you notice the figures are invisible at 
certain angles? It is very evident the storm came up during 
the altercation that night, and electricity printed the whole 
scene on this door; stamping the countenance of the mur- 
derer, to help the instruments of justice. While the blinds 
were closed, and the curtain was looped aside, of course this 
wonderful witness could not testify; but Prince let down 
the folds just before his departure, and the moment Bedney 
opened the blinds, there lay the truthful record of the awful 
crime. Verily, the ‘irony of fate !’ An overwhelming wit- 
ness for the defence, only eighteen months too late, to save 
a pure, beautiful life from degradation and ruin. Well may 
Bedney ask, ‘where is your corpus delictiV Alfred 
Churchill, I wish you joy of the verdict, you worked so 
hard to win.” 

Turning on his heel Mr. Dunbar walked the length of the 
veranda, and stood gazing gloomily across the tangled mass 
of the neglected rose garden, taking no cognizance of the 
garlands of bloom, seeing everywhere only that lithe elegant 
figure and Hyperion face of the man who reigned master of 
Beryl’s heart. 

The Solicitor leaned one shoulder against the door facing, 
and with his hands in his pockets, and his brows drawn into 
a pucker, pondered the new fact, and eyed the strange wit- 
ness. 

After a time, he approached his companion. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


419 


“If your hypothesis be correct, and it seems plausible, if 
science asserts that electricity can photograph, — then cer- 
tainly I am sorry, sorry enough for all I did in the trial; 
yet I cannot reproach myself, because I worked conscien- 
tiously; and the evidence was conclusive against the girl. 
The circumstantial coincidences were strong enough to have 
hung her. We all make mistakes, and no douti I am re- 
sponsible for my share; but thank God! reparation can be 
made 1 I will take the night train and see the Governor 
before noon to-morrow. The pardon must come now.” 

“Pardon ! He cannot pardon a crime of which she now 
stands acquitted. The only pardon possible, she may extend 
to those who sacrificed her. His Excellency need exercise 
no prerogative of mercy; his aid is superfluous. Churchill, 
go in as soon as you can, and send out the Sheriff, with 
as many of the jurors as you can get together; and ask 
Judge Parkman to drive out this afternoon, and bring Staf- 
ford, the photographer, with him. Tell Doctor Graham I 
want to see him here, as he is an accomplished electrician. 

I will stay here and guard this door till all X has 

seen it.” 

Winged rumor flew through the length and breadth of 
the town, and before sunset a human stream poured along 
the road leading to “Elm Bluff”, overflowed the green lawn 
under the ancient poplars, surged across the terrace, and 
beat against the railing of the piazza. Men, women, chil- 
dren, lawyers, doctors, newspaper reporters, all pressing 
forward for a glimpse of the mysterious and weird witness, 
that, in the fulness of time, had arisen to reprove the world 
for a grievous and cruel wrong. 

The hinges had been removed; the door was set up at 
a certain angle, carefully balanced against the hanging cur- 
tain; and there the curious crowd beheld, in a veritable 
vision of the dead, torn as it were from the darkness and 
silence of the grave, the secret of that stormy night, when 
unseen powers had solemnly covenanted in defence of trust- 
ing innocence. 


420 


AT THE ME.RCY OF TIBERIUS 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

On Saturday the regulations of prison discipline reduced 
the working hours much below the daily quota, and at two 
o’clock tie ringing of the tower bell announced that the 
busy convicts of the various industrial rooms were allowed 
leisure during the remainder of the afternoon, to give place 
to the squad of sweepers and scrubbers, who flooded the 
floors and scoured the benches. 

June heat had followed fast upon the balmy breath of 
May, and though the air at dawn was still iced with crystal 
dew, the sun that shone through the open windows of the 
little chapel, burned fiercely on the unpainted pine seats, 
the undraped reading-desk of the pulpit, the tarnished gilt 
pipes of the cabinet organ within the chancel railing. 

On one of the front benches sat Iva Le Bougeois, with 
a pair of crutches resting beside her on the arm of the 
seat, and her hands folded in her lap. Recovering slowly 
from the paralysis resulting from diphtheria, she had fol- 
lowed Beryl into the chapel, and listened to the hymns the 
latter had played and sung. The glossy black head was 
bent in abject despondency upon her breast, and tears 
dripped over the smooth olive cheeks, but no sound escaped 
the trembling mouth, once so red and riotous, now drawn 
into curves of passionate sorrow; and the topaz gleams that 
formerly flickered in her sullen hazel eyes were drowned in 
the gloom of dejection. For her, memory was an angel of 
wrath, driving her into the hideous Golgotha of the past, 
where bloody spectres gibbered; the present was a loath- 
some death in life, the future a nameless torturing horror. 
Helpless victim of her own outraged conscience, she seemed 
at times sinking into mental apathy more pitiable than that 
which had seized her physically; and the only solace possi- 
ble, she found in the encouraging words uttered by the voice 
that had prayed for her during that long night of mortal 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


421 


agony, in the gentle pressure of the soft hand that often 
guided her tottering footsteps. 

The organ stops had been pushed back, the musical echoes 
vibrated no longer; and the bare room, filled with garish 
sunshine, was so still that the drowsy droning of a bee high 
up on the dusty sash of the barred window, became mo- 
notonously audible. 

Within the chancel and to the right of the pulpit, a large 
reversible blackboard had recently been placed, and on a 
chair in front of it stood Beryl, engrossed in putting the 
finishing touches to a sketch which filled the entire board; 
and oblivious for the moment of Eve Werneth’s baby, who, 
having emptied her bottle of milk, had pulled herself up by 
the chair, and with the thumb of her right hand in her 
mouth, was staring up at the picture. 

The lesson selected for the Sunday afternoon Bible class, 
which Beryl had so successfully organized among a few of 
the female convicts, was the fifteenth chapter of Luke; and 
at the top of the blackboard was written in large letters: 
‘‘Rejoice with Me, for I have found My sheep which was 
lost.” 

She had drawn in the foreground the flock couched in 
security, rounded up by the collie guard in a grassy mead- 
ow; in the distance, overhanging a gorge, was a bald, pre- 
cipitous crag, behind which a wolf crouched, watching the 
Shepherd who tenderly bore in his arms the lost wanderer. 
On the opposite side of the blackboard had been carefully 
copied the Gospel Hymn beginning: — 

“There were ninety and nine that safely lay, 

In the shelter of the fold. 

But one was out on the hills away, 

Far off from the gates of gold — 

Away on the mountains wild and bare. 

Away from the tender Shepherd’s care.” 

Mental processes are strangely dualistic, and it not un- 
frequently happens that while one is consciously intent upon 
a certain train of thought, some secret cunning current of 
association sets in vibration the coil of ideas locked in the 


422 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


chambers of memory, and long forgotten images leap forth, 
startling in their pristine vividness. 

Absorbed by the text she was illustrating, the artist in- 
sensibly followed lines she deemed imaginary, yet when the 
sketch was completed, the ensemble suddenly confronted her 
as a miniature reproduction of a very distant scene, that 
had gladdened her childish heart in the blessed by-gone. Far 
away from the beaten track of travel, in a sunny cleft of 
the Pistoian Apennines, she saw the white fleeces grouped 
under vast chestnuts, the flash of copper buckets plunged 
by two peasant women into a gurgling fountain, the curly 
head of Bertie bowed over the rude stone basin, as he gayly 
coaxed the bearers to let him drink from the beautiful bur- 
nished copper; the rocky terraces cut in the beetling cliffs 
above, where dark ruby-red oleanders flouted the sky with 
fragrant banners; and the pathetic face of a vagrant ewe 
tangled among vines, high on a jagged ledge, bleating for 
the lamb asleep under the chestnuts down in the dell. 

Across the chasm of years floated the echo of the tinkling 
bell, that told where cows climbed in search of herbage; 
the singular rhythmic cadence of the trescone, danced in a 
neighboring vineyard; the deep, mellow, lingering tones of 
a monastery bell, rung by hermit hands in a gray tower 
on a mountain eyry, that looked westward upon the sparkling 
blue mirror of the Mediterranean. 

Then she was twelve years old, dreaming glorious mid- 
summer day-dreams, as she wandered with parents and 
brother on one of her father’s sketching tours through un- 
frequented nooks; now — ? 

A petulant cry, emphasized by the baby hand tugging at 
the hem of her dress skirt, recalled Beryl’s attention; and 
as she looked down at the waif, whom the chaplain had 
christened “Dovie” on the day of her mother’s burial, the 
little one held up her arms. 

“So tired, Dulce? You can’t be hungry; you must want 
your nap. There don’t fret, baby girl. I will take you 
directly.” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


423 


She stepped down, turned the side of the blackboard that 
contained the sketch to the wall; lowered the sash which 
she had raised to admit fresh air, and lifted the child from 
the floor. Approaching the figure who sat motionless as 
a statue of woe, she laid a hand on the drooping shoulder. 

“Shall I help you down the steps?” 

“No, ril stay here a while. This is the only place where 
I can get courage enough to pray. Couldn’t you leave her 
— the child — with me? It has been years since I could bear 
the sight of one. I hated children, because my heart was 
so black — so bitter ; but now, I yearn toward this little 
thing. I am so starved for the kiss of — of — ,” she swept her 
hand across her throat, where a sob stifled her. 

“Certainly, if she will stay contentedly. See whether she 
will come to you.” 

At sight of the extended arms, the baby shrank closer to 
Beryl, nestled her head under the girl’s chin, and put up 
her lower lip in ominous protest. With an indescribably 
mournful gesture of surrender, the childless mother sank 
back in the corner of the bench. 

“I don’t wonder she is afraid ; she knows — everybody, 
everything knows I killed my baby — my own boy, who slept 
for nearly four years on my heart — oh ! — ” 

“Hush — she was frightened by your crying. She Is sleepy 
now, but when she has had her nap, and wakes good- 
humored, I will fill her bottle, and bring her down to you. 
Try not to torment yourself by dwelling upon a distressing 
past, which you cannot undo; but by prayer anchor your 
soul in God’s pardoning mercy. When all the world hoots 
and stones us, God is our ‘sure refuge’.” 

“That promise is to pure hearts and innocent hands; not 
to such as I am, steeped to the lips in crime — black, black — ” 

“No. One said: ‘The whole need not a physician; but 
they that are sick.’ Your soul is sick unto death; claim the 
pledged cure. Yonder I have copied the hymn for to-mor- 
row’s lesson. While you sit here, commit it to memory; 
and the Shepherd will hear your cry.” 


424 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


Glancing back from the chapel door, she saw that the 
miserable woman aad bowed her face in her hands, and with 
elbows supported on her knees, was swaying back and forth 
in a storm of passionate sobs. 

“O ! my beautiful baby, my angel Max, pray for mother 
now. Max — Max — there is no ‘Sweet By and By’ — for 
mother — ” 

Hurrying from the wail of anguish that no human agency 
could lighten, Beryl carried the orphan across the yard, and 
up the stairs leading to the corridor, whence she was al- 
lowed egress at will. She noticed casually, signs of sup- 
pressed excitement among some of the convicts, who were 
lounging in groups, enjoying the half holiday, and three or 
four men stood around the under-warden who was gesticu- 
lating vivaciously; but at her approach he lowered his voice, 
and she lived so far aloof from the jars and gossip of the 
lower human strata, that the suspicious indications failed to 
arouse any curiosity. 

The southwest angle of the building was exposed fully to 
the force of the afternoon sun, and the narrow cell was so 
hot that Beryl opened the door leading into the corridor, 
in order to create a draught through the opposite window. 

The tired child was fretfully drowsy, but with the innate 
perversity of toddling babyhood, resented and resisted every 
effort to soothe her to sleep. Refusing to lie across the 
nurse’s lap, the small tyrant clambered up, wrapped her 
arms about her neck, and finally Beryl rose and walked up 
ind down, humming softly Chopin’s dreamy “Berceuse”; 
\7hile the baby added a crooning accompaniment that grew 
fainter and intermittent until the blue eyes closed, one arm 
fell, and the thumb was plunged between the soft full lips. 

Warily the nurse laid her down in a cradle, which con- 
sisted of an oval basket mounted on roughly fashioned 
wooden rockers, and drawing it close to the table, Beryl 
straightened the white cross-barred muslin slip that was too 
short to cover the rosy dimpled feet ; and smoothed the flossy 
tendrils of yellow hair crumpled around the lovely face. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


425 


The Sister of Charity, who, in the darkest hours of the 
pestilence had shrouded the poor young mother, did not 
forget the human waif astray in the world ; but having se- 
cured a home for it in an “asylum,” to which she promised 
it should be removed so soon as all danger of carrying con- 
tagion was over, had appointed the ensuing Monday on 
which to bear it away from the gloomy precincts, where 
sinless life had dawned in disgrace and degradation. This 
pretty toy, dowered with an immortal soul, stained by an 
inherited criminal strain, had appealed to the feminine ten- 
derness in Beryl’s nature, and she stood a moment, lost in 
admiration of the rounded curves and dainty coloring. 

“Poor little blossom. Nobody’s baby ! A lily bud adrift 
on a dead sea of sin. Dovie — Eve Werneth’s child— but you 
will always be to me Dulce, my pretty clinging Dulce, my 
velvet-eyed cherub model.” 

Turning away, she bathed her face and hands, and leaned 
for a while against the southern window; listening to the 
exultant song of a red bird hovering near his brooding 
brown mate, to the soothing murmur of the distant falls, 
borne in on the wings of the thievish June breeze that had 
rifled some far-off garden of the aroma of honeysuckle. The 
current of air had swung the door back, leaving only a 
hand’s bread-th of open space, and while she sang to the 
baby, her own voi-ce had drowned the sound of footsteps in 
the corridor. 

On the whitewashed wall of the cell, a sheet of drawing 
paper had been tacked, and taking her crayons. Beryl re- 
turned to the cradle, changed the position of the child’s left 
hand, and approaching the almost completed sketch on the 
wall, retouched the outline of the sleeping figure. Now and 
then she paused in her work, to look down at the golden 
lashes sweeping the slumber-flushed cheeks, and pondering 
the mystery of the waif’s future, she chanted in a rich con- 
tralto voice, the solemn “Reproaches” of Gounod’s “Re- 
demption.” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


^426 

“Oh, my vineyard, come tell me why thy grapes are bitter? 

What have I done, my People? 

Wherein hast thou been wronged?” 

For weeks the elaboration of this sketch had employed 
every moment which was not demanded for the execution 
of her allotted daily task in the convict workroom; and 
knowing that on Monday she would be bereft of her pretty 
model, she had redoubled her exertions to complete it. 

Beside a bier knelt a winged figure, in act of stealing the 
rigid form, and to the awful yet strangely beautiful face of 
the messenger of gloom, she had given the streaming hair, 
the sunken, cavernous but wonderfully radiant eyes of Men 
ritz Retzsch’s weird image of Death. A white butterfly 
fluttered upward, and in mid-air — neither descending nor 
drifting, but waiting — poised on outspread pinions, hovered 
the Angel of the Resurrection holding out his hands. Be- 
hind and beneath the Destroyer, rolled dense shadows, and 
all the light in this picture rayed out from the plumes above, 
and fell like a glory on the baby’s face. 

Cut off from all congenial companionship, thrown upon 
her own mental resources, the prisoner had learned to live 
in an ideal world; and her artistic tastes proved an in- 
destructible heritage of comfort, while memory ministered 
lavishly with images from the crowded realm of aesthetics. 
Victorious over the stony limitations of dungeon walls and 
dungeon discipline, fetterless imagination soared into the 
kingdom of beauty, and fed her lonely soul, as Syrian 
ravens fed God’s prophet. 

Fourteen months had passed since Mr. Dunbar walked 
away from this cell, after the interview relative to Gen’l 
Darrington’s will ; and though his longing to see the prisoner 
had driven him twice to the entrance of the chapel, whence 
he heard the marvellously sweet voice, and gazed at the 
figure before the organ, no word was exchanged. 

To-day, with his hand on the bolt of the door, and his 
heart in his eyes, he leaned against the facing, and through 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


427 


the opening studied the occupant of the cell that held the 
one treasure which fate had denied him. 

The ravages of disease, the blemish of acute physical suf- 
fering had vanished; the clear pallor of her complexion, the 
full white throat, the rounded contour of the graceful form, 
bespoke complete restoration of all the vital forces; and 
never had she appeared so incomparably beautiful. 

Oppressed by the heat, she had pushed back the hair from 
her temples, and though hopeless sadness reigned over the 
profound repose of her features, the expression of her eyes 
told that the dream of the artist had borne her beyond sur- 
rounding ills. 

Where the button of her blue homespun dress fastened 
the collar, she wore a sprig of heliotrope and a cluster of 
mignonette, from the shallow box in the window-ledge where 
they grew together. 

How long he stood there, surrendering himself to the 
happiness of watching the woman whom, against his will, 
he loved with such unreasoning and passionate fervor, Mr. 
Dunbar never knew; but a sudden recollection of the face 
printed on the glass, the face, beautiful as fabled Hylas — 
of the man for whose sake she was willing to die — stung 
him like an adder’s bite; and setting his teeth hard, he 
rapped upon the door held ajar; then threw it open. 

At sight of him, her arm, lifted to the sketch, fell; the 
crayon slipped from her nerveless fingers, and a glow rich 
as the heart of some red June rose stained her cheeks. 

As he stepped toward her, she leaned against the wall, and 
swiftly drew the baby’s cradle between them. He under- 
stood, and for a moment recoiled. 

“You barricade yourself as though I were some loathsome 
monster! Are you afraid of me?” 

“What is there left to fear? Have you spared any ex- 
ertion to accomplish that which you believe would over- 
whelm me with sorrow?” 

“You cannot forgive my rejection of the overtures for 


428 


AT THE’ MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


a compromise wrung from you by extremity of dread, when 
I started to Dakota?” 

“That rejection freed me from a self-imposed, galling 
promise; and hence I forgive all, because of the failure of 
your journey.” 

“Suppose I have not failed?” 

She caught her breath, and the color in her cheeks flick- 
ered. 

“Had you succeeded, I should not have been allowed so 
long the comparative mercy of suspense.” 

“Am I so wantonly cruel, think you, that I gloat over 
your sufferings as a Modoc at sight of the string of scalps 
dangling at his pony’s neck?” 

“When the spirit of revenge is unleashed, Tiberius be- 
comes a law unto himself.” 

He leaned forward, and his voice was freighted with ten- 
derness that he made no attempt to disguise. 

“Once after that long swoon in the court-room, when I 
held your hand, you looked at me without shrinking, and 
called me Tiberius. Again, when for hours I sat beside your 
cot, watching the crisis of your first terrible illness, you 
opened your eyes and held out your hand, saying: ‘Have 
you come for me, Tiberius?’ Why have you told me you 
were at the mercy of Tiberius?” 

Hitherto she had avoided looking at him, and kept her 
gaze upon the sleeping child, but warned by the tone that 
made her heart throb, she bravely lifted her eyes. 

“When next you write to your betrothed, ask her to go to 
the Museo Chiaramonti while in Rome, and standing before 
the crowned Tiberius, she will fancy her future husband 
welcomes her. Your wife will need no better portrait of 
you than a copy of that head.” 

Into his eyes leaped the peculiar glow that can be likened 
unto nothing but the clear violet flame dancing over a bed 
of burning anthracite coal, and into his voice an exultant 
ring: 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


429 


"‘Meantime, like my inexorable prototype, 1 hold a wolf 
by the ears’. Shall I tell you my mission here?” 

“As it appears I am indeed always at the mercy of Ti- 
berius, your courtesy savors of sarcasm.” 

“Oh, my stately white rose! My Rosa Alba, I will see 
to it, that no polluting hand lays a grasp on you. My errand 
should entitle me to a more cordial reception, for I bring 
you good news. Will you lay your hand in mine just once, 
while I tell you?” 

He extended his open palm, but she shook her head and 
smiled sadly. 

“In this world no good news can ever come to me.” 

“Do you know that recently earnest efforts have been 
made to induce the Governor to pardon you? That I have 
just returned from a visit to him?” 

“I was not aware of it; but I am grateful for your effort 
in my behalf.” 

“I was disappointed. The pardon was not granted. Since 
then, fate, who frowned so long upon you, has come to your 
rescue. The truth has been discovered, proclaimed; and I 
came here this afternoon with an order for your release. 
For you the prison doors and gates stand open. You are as 
free as you were that cursed day when first you saw me 
and robbed my life of peace.” 

For a moment she looked at him bewildered; then a great 
dread drove the blood from her lips, and her voice shook. 

“What truth has been discovered ?” 

“The truth that you are innocent has been established to 
the entire satisfaction of judge and jury, prosecution and 
Governor, sheriff, warden, and you are free. Not pardoned 
for that which all the world knows now you never com- 
mitted; but acquitted without man’s help, by the discovery 
of a fact which removes every shadow of suspicion from 
your name. You are at liberty, owing no thanks to human 
mercy; vindicated by a witness subpoenaed by the God of 
justice, in whom you trusted — even to the end.” 


430 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


“Witness? What witness? You do not mean that you 
have hunted down — ” 

She paused, and her white face was piteous with terror, 
as pushing away the cradle she came close to him. 

“I have seen the face of the man who killed Gen’l Bar- 
rington.” 

She threw up her arms, crossing them over her head. 

“O, my God ! Have I suffered in vain ? Shall I be denied 
the recompense? After all my martyrdom, must I lose the 
one hope that sustained me?” 

Despite the rage which the sight of her suffering woke 
within his heart, he could not endure to witness it. 

“Can you find no comfort in release? No joy in the con- 
sciousness of your triumphant vindication?” 

“None ! If you have robbed me of that which is all I care 
for on earth, what solace can I find in release? Vindica- 
tion ? What is the opinion of the world to me ? Oh ! how 
have I ever wronged you, that you persecute me so vin- 
dictively, that you stab the only comfort life can ever hold 
for me?” 

“And you love him so insanely, that to secure his safety, 
existence here in this moral sty is sweet in comparison with 
freedom unshared with him ? Listen ! That belief stirs the 
worst elements in my nature; it swings the whip of the 
furies. For your own sake, do not thrust your degrading 
madness upon my notice. I have labored to liberate you; 
have subordinated all other aims to this, and now, that I 
have come to set you free, you repulse and spurn me !” 

She was so engrossed by one foreboding, that it was 
evident she had not even heard him, as moving to the bench 
in front of the window she sat down, shivering. Her black 
brows contracted till they met, and the strained expression 
of her eyes told that she was revolving some possibility of 
succor. 

“Where did you see my — my — ?” 

“Not in Dakota mines, where I expected to find him.” 

“Mr. Dunbar.” She pointed to the chair at her side. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


431 

He shook his head, but approached and stood before her. 

*‘I am waiting to hear you.” 

“I sent you a telegram, promising information that would 
have prevented that journey.” 

“It failed to reach me.” 

Unconsciously she was wringing her hands as her thoughts 
whirled. 

“I will tell you something now, if you will promise me 
that no harm shall — ” 

He laughed scornfully. 

“As if I had anything to learn concerning that cowardly 
villain ! Thanks for your confidence, which comes much too 
late.” 

“You do not know that — ” 

“Yes, I know all I want to know; more than you shall 
ever tell me, and I decline to hear a confession that, in my 
eyes, defiles you; that would only drive me to harsh de- 
nunciation of your foul idol. Moreover, I will not extort by 
torture what you have withheld so jealously. Do not wring 
your hands so desperately. You are goaded to confession 
now, because you believe that I have secured your lover? 
Take courage, he has not yet been arrested; he is still a 
wanderer hiding from retribution.” 

She sprang up, trembling. 

“But you said you had seen his face?” 

“Yes, and I have come to take you where you can identify 
that face?” 

“Then, he is dead.” She covered her face with her 
hands. 

“No, I wish to God he was dead! Sit down. I will not 
see you suffer such agony. He is safe for the present. If 
you will try to think of yourself for a moment, and pay me 
the compliment of listening, I will explain. Do you recollect 
that during the storm on the night of the murder the light- 
ning was remarkably vivid and severe?” 

“Yes; can I ever forget any details of that night? Go 


432 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


“Do you recall the position of the glass door on the west 
veranda; and also that the crimson drapery or curtain was 
drawn aside?” 

“I recall it distinctly because, while Gen’l Darrington was 
reading my mother’s letter, I looked out through the glass 
at the chrysanthemums blooming in the garden.” 

“That door was almost opposite the chimney, and the safe 
or vault in the wall was very near the fireplace. It appears 
that when the chloroform failed to stupefy Gen’l Darrington, 
he got up and seized one of the andirons on the hearth, and 
attacked the thief who was stealing his money. While they 
were struggling in front of the vault, a burst of electricity, 
^some peculiarly vivid flash of lightning, sent by fate, by your 
guardian angel, it may have been by God himself — photo- 
graphed both men, and the interior of the room on the wide 
glass panel of that door. Forms, faces, features, even the 
pattern of the cloth coat, are printed plainly there, for the 
whole world to study. The murderer and the victim in 
mortal combat over the tin box. Accident — shall I say 
Providence — unexpectedly brought this witness to light. The 
curtain so long looped back, was recently lowered, and when, 
two days ago, the outside blinds were opened, there lay 
your complete vindication. Crowds have seen it; the news- 
paper issued an ‘extra’, and so general was the rejoicing, 
that a public demonstration would have been made here at 
the gaol, had not Churchill and I harangued the people and 
assured them it would only annoy and embarrass you. So 

you are free. Free to shake the dust of X forever from 

your feet ; and it must comfort your proud soul to know that 
you do not owe your liberty to the mercy of a community 
which wronged you. I forbade Singleton to tell you, to allow 
any premature hint to reach you ; for I claimed the privilege 
of bringing the glad tidings. Last night I spent in that room 
at ‘Elm Bluff’, guarding that door ; and the vigil was cheered 
by the picture hope drew, that when I came to-day you would 
greet me kindly; would lay your dear hands in mine, and 
tell me that, at least, gratitude would always keep a place 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


433 


for me warm in your noble heart. I have my recompense in 
the old currency of scorn. It were well for you if you had 
shown me your hatred less plainly; now I shall indulge less 
hesitation in following the clue the lightning lays in my 
grasp. I warn you that your release only expedites his ar- 
rest; for you can never pass beyond my surveillance; and 
the day you hasten to him, seals his fate. Long imprisoned 
doves, when set free, fly straight to their distant mates; so 
— take care — lest the hawk overtake both.” 

Looking up at him, listening almost breathlessly to the 
tale of a deliverance that involved new peril for Bertie, the 
color came slowly back to her blanched face, and her parted 
lips quivered. 

“If the picture means anything, it proves that Gen’l Dar- 
rington made the assault with the brass andiron, and in the 
struggle that followed, the man you saw might have killed 
him in self defence.” 

“When he is brought to trial in X he shall never be 

allowed the benefit of your affectionate supposition. I prom- 
ise you, that I will annihilate your tenderly devised theory.” 

He ground his teeth in view of the transparent fact, that 
she was too intently considering the bearing of the revela- 
tion upon the safety of another, to heed the thought of her 
own escape from bondage. 

The little cluster of flowers fastened at her throat had 
become loosened, and fell unnoticed into her lap. He 
stooped, picked them up, and straightened them on his palm. 
When his eyes returned to Beryl, she had bowed her face in 
her shielding hands. 

How little he dreamed that she was silently praying for 
strength to deny the cry of her own beating heart, and to 
keep him from making shipwreck of the honor which she 
supposed was still pledged to Leo ! Security for her brother, 
and unswerving loyalty to the absent woman who had be- 
friended her in the darkest hours of the accusation, were 
objects difficult to accomplish simultaneously; yet at every 
hazard she would struggle on. Because she had learned to 


434 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


love so well this man, who was the promised husband of 
another, conscience made her merciless to her own dis- 
loyalty. 

Mr. Dunbar laid on the bench a small package sealed in 
yellow paper. 

“Knowing that your detention here has necessarily for- 
feited all the industrial engagements by which you main- 
tained yourself, before you came South, I have been re- 
quested to ask your acceptance of this purse, which contains 
sufficient money to defray your expenses until you resume 
your art labors. It is an offering from your twelve jurors.’^ 

“No — no. I could never touch it. Tell them for me that 
I am not vindictive. I know they did the best they could 
for me, in view of the evidence. Tell them I am grateful 
for their offer, but I cannot accept it. I — ” 

“You imagine I am one of the generous contributors? Be 
easy ; I have not offered you a cent. I am merely the bearer 
of the gift, or rather the attempt at restitution. Your refusal 
will grieve them, and add to the pangs of regret that very 
justly afflict them at present.” 

, “I have some money which Doctor Grantlin collected for 
my Christmas card. He retained only a portion of the 
amount, and sent me the remainder. Mr. Singleton keeps it 
for me, and it is all that I need now.” 

“The purse contains also a ticket to New York, as it has 
been supposed that you would desire to return there at 
once.” 

“Take all back, with my earnest thanks. I prefer to owe 

X only the remembrance of the great kindness which 

some few have shown me. The officers here have been 
uniformly considerate and courteous to me; Mr. and Mrs. 
Singleton will ever be very dear to me for numberless kind 
deeds ; and Sister Serena was a staff of strength during that 
frightful black week of the trial.” 

She paused, and her voice betrayed something of the 
tumult at her heart, as while a sudden wave of scarlet over- 
flowed her cheeks, she rose and held out both hands. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


435 


“Mr. Dunbar, if I have seemed unappreciative of your 
great exertions in my behalf, it is merely because there are 
some matters which I can never explain in this world. One 
thing I ask you to believe when I am gone. I will never, 
so long as I live, cease to remember the debt I owe you. 
I am and shall be inexpressibly grateful to you, and when- 
ever I think of my terrible sojourn here, be sure I shall 
recall tenderly — oh ! how tenderly ! the two friends who 
trusted and believed in my innocence, when all the world 
denounced me; the two who generously clung to me when 
public opinion branded me as an outcast — you two — my 
best friends, you and Miss Gordon. It makes me proud 
and happy to know in this hour of my vindication, that in 
her, and in your good opinion, I needed none. Out of your 
united lives, let me pass as a fleeting gray shadow.” 

“Out of my life you can never pass. Into it you have 
brought disappointment, humiliation, and a keenness of suf- 
fering such as I never imagined I was capable of enduring; 
and some recompense I will have. You hope to plunge into 
the vortex of a great city, where you can elude observation 
and obliterate all traces. Do not cherish the ghost of such 
a delusion. Go where you may, but I give you fair warn- 
ing, you cannot escape me ; and the day you meet that guilty 
vagabond, you betray him to the scouts of justice.” 

He held her hands in a close, warm clasp, and a flush 
crossed his brow, as he looked down into her quivering face 
where a smile which he could not interpret, seemed only a 
challenge. 

“Would a generous man, worthy of Miss Gordon, harass 
iind persecute a very unhappy and unfortunate woman, who 
asks at his hands only to be forgotten completely, to be left 
in peace?” 

“I lay no claim to generosity, and, where you are con- 
cerned, I am supremely selfish. Miss Gordon has no need 
of your championship; she is quite equal to redressing her 
own wrongs, when the necessity presents itself. You are 
struggling to free your hands, so be it. I have a close car- 


436 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


riage at the gate, and to make assurance doubly sure, I have 
come to take you to ‘Elm Bluff’ ; to show you the face, and 
ask you to identify it. Understand me, I will harass you 
with no questions ; nor will I intrude upon you there. I have 
ordered the grounds cleared, have posted police to prevent 
the possibility of any occurrence unpleasant to you; and all 
I ask is, that alone, you will examine this witness, produced 
so strangely for your justification. I shall wait for you in 
the rose garden, and if you can come down from that gallery 
and tell me that the face is unknown to you, that the man 
photographed in the act of stealing, is a stranger; is not the 
man you love so well that you bore worse than death to 
save him from punishment, then I will give up the quest; 
and you may flee unwatched to the ends of the earth.” 

“Never again will I see that place which has blasted every 
hope that life held for me.” 

“Not even to clear away aspersion from his beloved 
name?” 

“I pray God, his beloved and sacred name may never be 
associated with a crime so awful.” 

“You will not go to see the face? Remember, I shall ask 
you neither yea nor nay. I shall need only to look once 
into your eyes, after you have seen the Gorgon. Beryl, my 
white rose ! Are you ashamed to show me your idol’s face ?” 

“I will never go to ‘Elm Bluff’.” 

“It is no longer necessary. You know already the fea- 
tures printed there, and your avoidance stamps them with 
infamy. How can your lofty soul, your pure heart, tolerate 
a creature so craven, so vile?” 

“We love not always whom we would, or should, were 
ohoice permitted us; and to whom I have given my heart, 
my whole deep heart, you shall never learn.” 

The mournful smile that lent such wistful loveliness to her 
flushed face, seemed to him merely a renewed defiance. 

“I bide my time, knowing it will surely come. You are 
free, but be careful. Once when you lay upon the brink of 
the g^rave, unconscious, I knelt at your side and took you 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


437 


in my arms; laid your head on my heart, felt your cheek 
touch mine. Then and there I made a covenant with my 
soul; and no other man’s arms shall ever enfold you. Ah, 
my Rosa Alba! I could dig your grave with my own hands, 
sooner than see that thief claim you. I am a proud man, 
and you have dragged me through the slough of humilia- 
tion, but to-day, as I bid you good-bye, I realize how one 
felt, who looking at the bust of him she loved supremely, 
said with her last breath: ‘Voild mon univers, mon espoir, ei 
mes dieuxT How soon we meet again depends solely on 
your future course. You know the conditions; and I prom- 
ise you I will not swerve one iota.” 

He took her hand, drew it across his cheek, laid it on his 
lips; and a moment later walked away, with the faded 
flowers folded close in his palm. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

Conveniently contiguous to the busy centre of a wide 
and populous city, situated on the shore of one of those 
great inland fresh-water seas, whose lake line girdles the 
primeval American upheaval, the Laurentian rocks, — stands 
in the middle of a square, enclosed by a stone coping and 
an iron railing, a stately pile of brick and granite several 
stories high, flanked by wings that enclose in the rear a 
spacious court. The faqade was originally designed in the 
trabeated style, and still retained its massive entrance, with 
straight, grooved lintel over the door which was adorned 
by four round columns; but subsequent additions reflected 
the fluctuations of popular architectural taste, in the later 
arched windows, the broad oriel with its carved corbel, and 
in the new eastern wing, that had flowered into a Tudor 
tower with bulbous cupola. The strip of velvet sward be- 
tween the street and the house entrance, was embossed with 
brilliant coleus set in the form of anchors; and a raised 


438 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


border, running the entire length under the windows of the 
basement, was ablaze with geraniums of various hues. 

On a granite pediment above the portico, a large bronze 
anchor was supported, and beneath it was cut, in projecting 
letters: “The Umilta Anchorage”. 

In front of the building ran a broad, paved boulevard; 
in the rear, the enclosure was bounded by a stone wall, 
overgrown with ivy, and built upon the verge of the blue 
lake, whose waves broke against the base, and rolled away 
in the distance beyond the northern horizon. 

Fully in accord with the liberal eclecticism that char- 
acterized its exterior, was the wide-eyed, deep, tender- 
hearted charity which, ignoring all denominational barriers, 
opened its doors in cordial welcome to worthy, homeless 
women, whom misfortune had swept away from family 
moorings, and whose clean hands and pure hearts sought 
some avenue to honest work. The institution was a memorial 
erected and endowed by a wealthy man, whose only child 
Umilta, just crossing the threshold of womanhood, had been 
lost in a sudden storm on the lake; whose fair, drowned 
face had been washed ashore just below the stone wall, and 
whose statue stood, guarded by marble angels, in the small 
chapel in the centre of the building, which was designed as 
an enduring monument to commemorate her untimely fate, 
and perpetuate her name. 

Divided into various industrial departments, the “Anchor- 
age” was maintained almost entirely by the labor of its in- 
mates; and it had rarely been found necessary to draw from 
the reserve endowment fund, that was gradually accumu- 
lating for future contingencies. 

Trained nurses, trained housekeepers were furnished on 
demand; lace curtains mended, laundered; dainty lingerie of 
every description, from a baby’s wardrobe to a bride’s 
trousseau; ornamental needle-work on all fabrics; artificial 
flowers, card engraving, artistic designs for upholstering, 
menus, type-writing, all readily supplied to customers; and 
certain confectionery put up in pretty boxes made by the 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


439 


inmates, and bearing the “Anchor” stamp. A school of 
drawing, etching, painting, and embroidery attracted many 
pupils ; and a few pensioners who had grown too infirm and 
dim-eyed for active work, had a warm, bright room where 
they knitted stockings and underwear of various kinds. 

At one end of the long refectory was emblazoned on the 
wall: “For whosoever shall do the will of my Father which 
is in Heaven, the same is my brother and sister and mother.” 
At the other : “Bear ye one another’s burdens.” The chapel 
contained no pulpit, but on a marble altar stood a life-size 
figure of a woman clinging to the cross; and on the walls 
hung paintings representing the Crucifixion, the Descent, 
the Resurrection and the Mater Dolorosa; while in a niche 
at the extremity, behind the altar, an Ecce Homo of carved 
ivory was suspended above a gilt cross, and just beneath it 
glittered the motto “Faith, Hope, Charity”. Every morning 
and evening the band of women gathered here, and recited 
the Apostles’ Creed, and the Lord’s Prayer; but on Sabbath 
the members attended the church best suited to their in- 
dividual tenets. 

The infirmary was a cheerful, airy room, and here pro- 
fessional nurses were trained under the guidance of visiting 
physicians; and in an adjoining kitchen were taught to pre- 
pare the articles of diet usually belonging to the regimen of 
sick rooms. 

Widows, maidens. Catholics, Protestants, admitted from 
the age of eighteen to forty, these “Umilta Sisters” were 
received on probation for eighteen months; then entered 
upon a term of five years, subject to renewal at will; bound 
by specified rules, but no irrevocable vow. Yielding implicit 
obedience to the matron, elected by themselves every four 
years — subject to approval and ratification by the Chapter 
of Trustees, they were recognized wherever they went by 
the gray garb, the white aprons, and snowy mob caps 
peculiar to the institution. 

Fashionable women patronized and fondled the “Anchor- 
age”, for much the same reason that led them to pamper 


440 


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their pugs; and since the Chapter of Trustees consisted of 
men of wealth and prominence, their wives, as magnates in 
le heau monde, set the seal of “style” upon articles manu- 
factured there, by ordering quilted satin afghans with an- 
chors of pansies embroidered in the centre, for their baby 
carriages; painted tea gowns; favors for a “German”, or 
fans and bonbonnieres for birthday parties. 

. If children of the Brahmin caste of millionairdom were 
seized by the Pariah ills of measles, or chicken-pox, or 
mumps, it was deemed quite as imperatively the duty of 
doting parents to provide an “Anchorage” nurse, as to secure 
an eminent physician, and the most costly brand of con- 
densed milk. In the name of sweet charity, gay gauzy- 
winged butterflies of fashion harnessed themselves in ropes 
of roses, and dragged the car of benevolence; as painted 
papulous drew chariots of goddesses on ancient classic walls ; 
so in the realm of social economy the ubiquitous law of cor- 
relation of industrial force — of conservation of energy — 
transmuted the arrested labor of the rich and idle into the 
fostering heat that stimulated the working poor. 

Scarcely a month previous to her unexpected release from 
prison. Beryl had received a letter from Doctor Grantlin, 
enclosing one addressed to “Sister Ruth, Matron of An- 
chorage”. He wrote that his daughter’s health demanded 
some German baths ; and on the eve of sailing, he desired to 
secure for the prisoner a temporary refuge, should the efforts 
which he had heard were made to obtain her pardon, prove 
successful. As a nephew of the founder, and a cousin of 
the young lady for whom the “Anchorage” was intended as 
a lasting memorial, he had always been accorded certain 
privileges by the trustees ; and the letter, if presented to the 
matron, would insure at least an entrance into the haven of 
rest, until the prisoner could mature some plan for her 
future. 

Spurred away from X by the dread of another inter- 

view with the man whom she had assiduously shunned, and 
of being required to visit “Elm Bluff” and scrutinize the 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


441 


accusing picture, Beryl had shrouded herself in her heavy 
mourning, and fled from the scene of her suffering, on the 
3 A.M. train Sunday morning; ten hours after receiving the 
certificate of her discharge. Shrinking from observation, 
she refused Mr. Singleton permission to accompany her to 
the station house, and bade him good-bye three squares 
distant ; promising to write soon to his still absent wife, and 
assured by him that a farewell letter of affectionate grati- 
tude should be promptly delivered to Dyce. Fortunately a 
stranger stood in the office and sold her a ticket; and in the 
same corner, where twenty months before she had knelt dur- 
ing the storm, she waited once more for the sound of the 
train. How welcome to her the shuddering shriek that tore 
its way through the dewy silence of the star-lit summer 
night, and she hurried out, standing almost on the rails, in 
her impatience to depart. 

Several travellers were grouped near a pile of luggage 
awaiting the train, but as it rolled swiftly in and jarred itself 
to a standstill, she saw even through her crape veil a well 
known figure, leaning against an iron post that held an 
electric lamp. She sprang up the steps leading to the plat- 
form, and took the first vacant seat, which was in front of 
an open window. 

The silvery radiance from the globe just opposite, streamed 
in, and her heart seemed to cease beating as the tall form 
moved forward and taking off his hat, stood at the side of 
the car. Neither spoke. But when the brass bell rang its 
signal and the train trembled into motion, a hand was thrust 
in, and dropped upon her lap a cluster of exquisite white 
joses, with one scarlet passion flower glowing in the centre. 

During the three days spent in New York, Beryl’s wounds 
©led afresh, and she felt even more desolate than while 
sheltered behind prison walls. The six-storied tenement 
house where she had last seen her mother’s face, and kissed 
her in final farewell, had been demolished to make room 
for a new furniture warehouse. Strange nurses in the 
hospital could tell her nothing concerning the last hours of 


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the beloved dead; and the only spot in the wide western 
world that seemed to belong to her, was a narrow strip of 
ground in a remote corner of the great cemetery, where a 
green mound held its square granite slab, bearing the words 
“Ellice Barrington Brentano.” 

With her face bowed upon that stone, the lonely woman 
had wept away the long hours of an afternoon that decided 
her plan for the future. 

Dr. Grantlin had gone abroad for an indefinite period, 
and no one knew the contents of his last letter. In New 
York her movements would be subject to the surveillance 
she most desired to escape; but in that distant city where 
the “Anchorage” was situated, she might disappear, leaving 
no more trace than that of a stone dropped in some stormy, 
surging sea. 

To find Bertie and reclaim him, was the only goal of hope 
life held for her, and to accomplish this, the first requisite 
was to effectually lose herself. 

Anxious and protracted deliberation finally resulted in an 
advertisement, which she carried next morning to the “Her- 
ald” office, to be inserted for six months in the personal 
column, unless answered. 

^'Bertie, if you want the lost button we bought at Lucca, 
when can Gigina hand it to you in St. Catherine's, Canada^* 

She wore her old blue bunting dress, and a faded blue 
veil when she delivered the notice at the office of the news- 
paper, and paid in advance the cost of its publication. Later 
in the same day, clad in her mourning garments, she went 
down to the Grand Central Depot and bought a railway 
ticket; and the night express bore her away on her long 
journey westward. 

It was on the fourth of July, her twenty-first birthday, 
that she entered the reception room at the “Anchorage”, 
and presented in conjunction with Doctor Grantlin’s letter, 

a copy of the newspaper printed at X , which contained 

an article descriptive of the discovery of the picture on the 
glass door; and expressive of the profound sympathy of the 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 443 

public for the prisoner so unjustly punished by incarcera- 
tion. 

For twenty years a resident of the institution, over which 
she had repeatedly presided, Sister Ruth was now a woman 
of fifty-five, whose white hair shone beneath her cap border 
like a band of spun silver, and whose yellowish, dim eyes 
seemed unnaturally large behind their spectacles. Thin and 
wrinkled, her face was nobly redeemed by a remarkably 
beautiful, patient mouth; and her angular, wiry figure, by 
small feet and very slender hands, where the veins rose like 
blue cords lacing ivory satin. Over the shoulders of her 
gray flannel dress was worn the distinctive badge of her 
office, a white mull handkerchief pleated surplice fashion 
into her girdle, whence hung by a silver chain a set of 
tablets; and the folds of mull were fastened at her throat 
by a silver anchor. 

Having deliberately read letter and paper, she put the 
former in her pocket, and returned the latter with a stately 
yet graceful inclination of the head, that would have been 
creditable in Mdm. Recamier’s salon. 

“I have expected you for some weeks, an earlier letter 
from Doctor Grantlin having prepared me for your arrival; 
but it appears you have not been released from prison by 
the pardon he anticipated?” 

“No, madam; the authorities who caused my arrest and 
imprisonment, considered the discovery of the printed door 
a complete refutation of the accusation against me, and or- 
dered my release. I come here not as a pardoned criminal, 
but as an unfortunate victim of circumstantial evidence; 
acquitted of all suspicion by a circumstance even stranger 
than those which seemed to condemn me. In the darkest 
days of my desolation. Doctor Grantlin believed me inno- 
cent, honored me with his confidence and friendship, soothed 
my mother’s dying hour; and he will rejoice to learn that 
acquittal anticipated the mockery of a pardon. Only his 
generous encouragement emboldened me to hope for a tem- 
porary shelter here.” 


444 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


‘‘Then you have no desire to become a permanent resi- 
dent?” 

“At present, I shall be grateful if allowed to enjoy the 
privilege of hiding my sore heart for a while from the gaze 
of a world that has cruelly wronged me. I want to rest 
where wicked men and women do not pollute the air, where 
I can try to .forget the horrors of convict life ; and the rest 
I need is not idleness, it is labor of some kind that will so 
fully employ my hands and brain, that when I lie down at 
night my sad, aching heart and wounded soul can find balm 
in sleep. Locked at night into a dark cell has made exis- 
tence for nearly eighteen months a mere hideous vigil, broken 
by fitful nightmare. To see only pure faces, to listen t© 
sweet feminine voices that never knew the desecration of 
blasphemy, to exchange the grim, fetid precincts of a peni- 
tentiary for a holy haven such as this, is indeed a glimpse of 
paradise to a tortured spirit.” 

“Have you special reasons for wishing to shun observa- 
tion ?” 

The dim eyes probed like some dull blade that tears the 
tissues. 

“Yes, madam, special cause to want to be forgotten by 
the public, who have stared me at times almost to frenzy.” 

“You are an orphan, I am told; with no living relatives 
in America.” 

“I am an orphan; and think I have no relative in the 
United States.” 

“In the very peculiar circumstances that surround and 
isolate you, I should imagine you would esteem it a great 
privilege to cast your lot here, and become one of the per- 
manently located Sisters of the ‘Anchorage’. Ours is a 
noble and consecrated mission.” 

“Knowing literally nothing of your institution, except 
that it is a hive of industrious good women, offering a home 
and honest work to homeless and innocent unfortunates, I 
could not pledge myself to a life which might not prove 
suitable on closer acquaintance. Take me in; give me em- 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


445 


ployment that will prevent me from being a tax upon your 
hospitality, and mercifully shelter me from pitiless curiosity 
and gossip/’ 

“Even were our sympathies not enlisted in your behalf, 
Doctor Grantlin’s request would insure your admission, at 
least for a season. Where is your luggage?” 

“I have only a trunk, for which I have retained the rail- 
way check, until I ascertained your willingness to receive 
me.” 

“Give it to me.” 

She crossed the room and pressed the knob of a bell on 
the opposite wall. Almost simultaneously a door opened, and 
to a stout, middle-aged woman who appeared on the 
threshold, the matron gave instructions in an under tone. 

Returning to the stranger, she resumed: 

“I infer from the Doctor’s letter, that you are a gifted 
person. In what lines do your talents run?” 

“Perhaps I should not lay claim to talent, but I am, by 
grace of study, a good musician; and I draw and paint, at 
least with facility. At one time I supported my mother and 
myself by singing in a choir, but diphtheria closed that 
avenue of w'ork. With the restoration of health, I think I 
have recovered my voice. I am an expert needle woman, 
and can embroider well, especially on fine linen.” 

“Do you feel competent to teach a class in ‘water color’, 
in our Art School? Our aquarelle Sister is threatened with 
amaurosis, and the oculist prohibits all work at present.” 

“You can form an opinion of my qualifications by exam- 
ining some sketches which are in my trunk. I have fur- 
nished several designs for the ‘Society of Decorative Art’, 
and have sold a number of painted articles at the Woman’s 
Exchange.” 

“Then I think you have only to step into a vacant niche, 
and supply a need which was beginning to perplex us. Dur- 
ing the latter part of September, an International Scientific 
Congress will be held in this city, and one of our patrons, 
Mr. Brompton, who expects to entertain the distinguished 


446 


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foreign delegates, has given us an order for dinner cards 
for eight courses, and each set for twenty-four covers. As 
nearly as we can comprehend the design, his intention is to 
represent the order of creation in fish, game, fruits and 
flowers; and each card will illustrate some special era in 
geology and zoology. The cream and ices set are expected 
to show the history of Polar regions as far as known, and at 
the conclusion of the banquet, each guest will be presented 
with a velvet smoking cap, to which must be attached a 
card representing ‘scientific soap-bubbles pricked by the last 
scientists’ junta’. Now while the ‘Anchorage’s’ cultured art 
standard claims to be as high as any. East, we should 
scarcely venture to fill this order, had not two of the pro- 
fessors in our University, promised to map out the order, 
and furnish some dots in the way of engravings, which will 
aid the accomplishment of the work ; and we are particularly 
desirous of pleasing our patron, from whom the ‘Anchor- 
age’ expects a bequest. If you think you can successfully 
undertake a portion of this order, given us by Mr. Brompton, 
we shall make you doubly welcome.” 

“I think I may safely promise satisfactory work in the 
line you designate; and at least, I shall be grateful for the 
privilege of making the attempt.” 

“You are aware, I presume, that all inmates of the ‘An- 
chorage’ are required to wear its regulation uniform.” 

“I shall be very glad to don it ; hoping it may possess 
some spell to exorcise memories of the last uniform I wore; 
the blue homespun of penitentiary convicts.” 

“You must try to forget all that. The ‘Anchorage’ gates 
shut fast on the former lives we led; here we dwell in a 
busy present, hoping to secure a blessed future. Come with 
me to the cutting room, and be measured for your flannel 
uniform ; then one of the Sisters will show you to your own 
cell in this consecrated bee-hive, which you will find as 
peaceful as its name implies.” 

The first story contained the reception rooms, chapel, 
schoolroom, apartments for the display of sample articles 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


447 


manufactured; the refectory, kitchen and laundry; and one 
low wide room with glass on three sides, where orchids and 
carnations, the floral specialties of the institution, were 
grown. On the second floor were various workrooms, sup- 
plied with materials required for the particular fabric therein 
manufactured or ornamented; and cut off from communica- 
tion, was the east wing, used exclusively as an infirmary, 
and provided with its separate kitchen and laundry. The 
third story embraced the dormitory, a broad, lofty apart- 
ment divided by carved scroll work and snowy curtains, into 
three sets of alcoves running the entire length of the floor; 
separated by carpeted aisles, and containing all the articles 
of furniture needed by each occupant. On the ceiling di- 
rectly over every bed, was inscribed in gilt letters, some 
text from the Bible, exhorting to patience, diligence, frugal- 
ity, humility, gentleness, obedience, cheerfulness, honesty, 
truthfulness and purity ; and mid-way the central aisle, 
where a chandelier swung, two steps led to a raised desk, 
whence at night issued the voice of the reader, who made 
audible to all the occupants the selected chapter in the 
Bible. At ten o’clock a bell was rung by the Sister upon 
whom devolved the duty of acting as night watch; then 
lights were extinguished save in the infirmary. 'I'his com- 
mon dormitory was reserved for Sisters who had spent at 
least five years in the building; and to probationers were 
given small rooms on the second story of the west wing. 

The third story of the same wing fronted north, and 
served as a studio where all designs were drawn and 
painted; and upon its walls hung pictures in oil and water 
color, engravings, vignettes, and all the artistic odds and 
ends given or lent by sympathetic patrons. 

Each story was supplied with bath-rooms, and the entire 
work of the various departments was performed by the ap- 
pointed corps of inmates; the Sisters of the wash tub, and 
of the broom brigade, being selected for the work best 
adapted to their physical and intellectual development. 

Visitors lingered longest in the great kitchen with its 


448 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


arched recess where the range was fitted; where like organ 
pipes glittering copper boilers rose, and burnished copper 
measures and buckets glinted on the carved shelves running 
along one side. The adjoining pastry room was tiled with 
stone, furnished with counters covered with marble slabs, 
and with refrigerators built into the wall; and here the 
white-capped, white-aproned priestesses of pots, pans and 
pestles moved quietly to and fro, performing the labor upon 
which depended in great degree the usefulness of artificers 
in all other departments. 

The refectory opened on a narrow terrace at the rear of 
the building, which was sodded with turf and starred with 
pansies and ox-eyed daisies, and on the wide, stone window 
sills sat boxes and vases filled with maiden-hair ferns and 
oxalis, with heliotrope and double white violets. Three 
lines of tables ran down this bright pretty room, and in the 
centre rose a spiral stair to a cushioned seat, where when 
“Grace” had been pronounced, the Reader for the day made 
selections from such volumes of prose or poetry as w'ere 
deemed by the Matron elevating and purifying in influence; 
tonic for the soul, stimulant for the brain, balm for the 
heart. 

Close to the rear wall overhanging the lake, ran a treillage 
of grape vines, and on the small grass sown plot of gar- 
den, belated pseonies tossed up their brilliant balls, as play- 
things for the wind that swept over the blue waves, break- 
ing into a fringe of foam beyond the stone enclosure. 

Except at meals, and during the last half hour in the 
dormitory, night and morning, no restriction of silence was 
imposed, and one hour was set apart at noon for merely 
social intercourse, or any individual scheme of labor. Busy, 
tranquil, cheerful, often merry, they endeavored to eschew 
evil thoughts; and cultivated that rare charity which makes 
each tolerant of the failings of the other, which broadens 
a sympathy that can excuse individual differences of opinion, 
and that consecrat-es the harmony of true home life. 

The room assigned to Beryl was at the extremity of the 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


449 


second story, just beneath the studio; and as the north end 
of the wings was built at each corner into projections that 
were crowned with bell towers, this apartment had a circular 
oriel window, swung like a basket from the wall, and 
guarded by an iron balcony. Cool, quiet, restful as an 
oratory seemed the nest; with its floor covered by matting 
diapered in blue, its low, wide bedstead of curled maple, with 
snowy Marseilles quilt, and crisply fluted pillow cases; its 
book shelves hanging on the wall, surmounted by a copy in 
oil of Angelico’s Elizabeth of Hungary, with rapt face up- 
raised as she lifted her rose-laden skirt. 

The lambrequins of blue canton flannel were bordered 
with trailing convolvulus in pink cretonne, and the diaphan- 
ous folds of white muslin curtains held in the centre an em- 
broidered anchor which dragged inward, as the breeze 
rushed in through open windows. An arched recess in the 
wall, whence a door communicated with the adjoining cham- 
ber, was concealed by a portiere of blue that matched the 
lambrequins, and the alcove served as a miniature dressing- 
room, where the brass faucet emptied into a marble basin. 

In this apartment the imperial sway of dull maroons, 
sullen Pompeiian reds, and sombre murky olives had never 
cast encroaching shadows upon the dainty brightness of 
tender rose and blue, nor toned down the silvery reflection 
of the great sea of waters that flashed under the sunshine 
like some vast shifting mirror. 

Travel-worn and very weary. Beryl sat down by the win- 
dow and looked out over the lake, that far as the eye could 
reach, lifted its sparkling bosom to the cloudless dim blue 
of heaven, effacing the sky line; dotted with sails like huge 
v/hite butterflies, etched here and there with spectral, shad- 
owy ship masts, overflown by gray gulls burnished into the 
likeness of Zophiels’ pinions, as their wings swiftly dipped. 

Driven by storms of adversity away from the busy world 
of her earlier youth, leaving the wrack of hopes behind, she 
had drifted on the chartless current of fate into this Umilta 
Sisterhood, this latter day Beguinage; where, provided with 


450 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


work that would furnish her daily bread, she could hide her 
proud head without a sense of shame. Doctor Grantlin, in 
compliance with her request, would keep the secret of her 
retreat ; and surely here she might escape forever the 
scrutiny and the dangerous magnetism of the man who had 
irretrievably marred her fair, ambitious youth. 

To-day, twenty-one, full statured in womanhood, prema- 
turely scorched and scarred in spirit by fierce ordeals, she 
saw the pale ghost of her girlhood flitting away amid the 
ruins of the past; and knew that instead of making the 
voyage of life under silken sails gilded with the light, and 
fanned by the breath of love and happiness, she had been 
swept under black skies before a howling hurricane, into an 
unexpected port, — where, lashed to the deck with “torn strips 
of hope”, she had finally moored a strained, dismasted 
barque in the “Anchorage”, whence with swelling canvas 
and flying pennons no ships ever went forth. 

A rush of grateful tears filled her tired eyes, and soothed 
by the consciousness of an inviolable security, her trembling 
lips moved in a prayer of thankfulness to God, upon whom 
she had stayed her tortured soul, grappling it to the blessed 
promise: “Lo, I am with you always. I will never leave 
you nor forsake you.” 


CHAPTER XXX. 

“Why deny it, Leo? Let us at least be frankly realistic, 
and ^call a spade a spade’ when we set ourselves to dig 
ditches, draining the stagnant pools of life. Each human 
being has a special goal toward which he or she strains, with 
nineteen chances out of twenty against reaching it in time; 
and if it be won, is it worth the race? With some of us it 
is love, ambition, mundane prosperity; with others, intel- 
lectual supremacy, moral perfection, exalted spirituality, sub- 
limated altruism; but after all, in the final analysis, it is 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


451 


only hedonism ! Each struggles with teeth and claws for 
that which gives the largest promise of pleasure to body, 
mind, or soul, as the individual happens to incline. To 
Sybarites the race is too short to be fatiguing, and the goal 
is only an ambuscade for satiety and ennui ; to ascetics, the 
race course stretches to the borders of futurity, but even for 
them one form of pleasure, spiritual pleasure, lights up eter- 
nity. The thing we want, we want; not because of its 
orthodoxy, or its excellency or beauty per se; we want it 
because it gratifies some idiosyncratic craving of our three- 
fold natures. The good things of this world are very 
adroitly and ingeniously labelled, but we rummage in the 
bonbonniere for a certain marron glace, and if it be not 
there, all the caramels in Venice, all the ‘gluko’ in Greece, 
all the rahatlicum in Turkey will not appease us.” 

With her arms thrown back, and clasped around the satin 
cushion crushed against her head and shoulders, Miss Cut- 
ting lay on a red plush divan in her father’s picture gallery 
at home; and the swathing folds of a topaz-hued surah 
gown embroidered with scarlet poppies half concealed the 
feet that beat a tattoo on the polished oak floor. 

“Then you have missed your marron glace?'' answered 
Leo, turning from the contemplation of a new picture which 
Mr. Cutting had recently added to his collection. 

“Of course. Do not all of us sooner or later ? Where is 
yours? Safe under lock and key, or hanging on some crag, 
ripening for the confectioner; or filched by some stealthy 
white hand, devoured by some eager lips that smile derisively 
at you while they nibble?” 

From beneath drooping lids, Alma’s oblique glance noted 
the result of her Scipio Africanus’ tactics. 

“Alma, too intemperate and prolonged diet of sweets has 
ruined your digestion; has rendered you an ethical dyspep- 
tic. A surfeit of sugar betrays itself in fermentation, and 
you have reached the stage of moral acidulation.” 

“Ah, don’t drift into homiletics ! I see your marron grows 
hard by the vineyard where sour grapes flourish. Leo, I am 


452 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


not so serenely proud as you, but a trifle more honest, and 
I have cried for my bonbon, never flouting its delicious 
flavor; hence, when I am ordered back to boiled milk and 
oatmeal, I make no feint to disguise my wry faces.” 

Alma’s low, teasing laugh stung like some persistent buzz- 
ing insect, “^nd a slight flush tinged her companion’s cheek 
as she replied: 

“Why plunge to the opposite extreme? You will starve 
on that porridge you are desperately preparing for your- 
self.” 

“What else remains? This world is a huge bazaar, a big 
church fair, and like other eager-eyed children I promptly 
set my heart on the great 'bisc' doll with its head turning 
coquettishly from side to side, singing snatches from "La 
Grande Duchesse', and clad like Sheba’s queen ! I stake 
all my pennies on a chance in the raffle, which has a ‘con- 
solation prize’ hidden away from vulgar gaze. By and by 
the dice rattle, and over my head, quite out of my reach, is 
borne the coveted beauty (owned now by a girl I know), 
bowing and singing to the new owner, who exultantly ex- 
hibits her as she departs; and into my outstretched arms 
falls something hideous enough to play Medusa in a tableau, 
a rag baby with grinning Senegambian lips, rayless owlish 
eyes, and a concave nose whose nostrils suggest the Cata- 
combs ! Bitter rage and murderous fury possess me, but 
I am much too wise to show my tempers at the fair; so I 
hug my ‘consolation prize’, and get away as fast as possible 
with my treasure, and once safe from observation, box, 
deride, trample upon it, and toss it into the garret as suita- 
ble prey for dust, cobwebs and mildew! After a time, the 
keenness of the disappointment dulls, like all other human 
aches that do not kill, and by degrees I think less vindictively 
of the despised substitute. Finally comes a day, when all 
else failing to amuse me, I creep sheepishly into the attic 
and pick up the rejected, and persuade myself it is at least 
better than no doll at all, and forthwith adorn it with rags 
of finery; but the echoes of ‘La Grande Duchesse' will al- 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


453 


ways ring in my ears, and through the halo of tears I see 
ever and anon the prize beauty that was withheld. The 
two-edged sword in the diablerie of fate is, that we are 
ordained to fret after 'bisc,' when stuffed rags have been 
meted out as our share of the fair.” 

Leo drew a chair near the divan and seated herself; look- 
ing steadily into the velvety black eyes that instead of be- 
traying hid, like a domino, the soul of their owner. 

“Alma, better cross empty arms forever over empty heart, 
than mock your womanhood by acceptance of a ‘consolation 
prize’.” 

“We all say that the day after the fair; but wait a few 
years as I have done; and like all your sisters in the ranks 
of the disappointed, you will ultimately crawl back to the 
attic and kiss the thick lips, and try to persuade yourself 
the nose is not so formidable, though certainly a trifle less 
classic than Antinous’s ! We set out with our eyes fixed 
on Vega, blazing above, and flaunt our banner — ‘tout ou 
rienT — but when the campaign ends, Vega laughs at us 
from the horizon, quitting our world; and we console our- 
selves with a rushlight, and shelter it carefully from the 
wind with another flag: ‘Quand on n'a pas ce qidon ainie, il 
faut aimer ce qu’on a!' Such is the worldly wisdom that 
comes with ripening years, like the deep stain on the sunny 
side of a peach. Moreover, ‘folding empty arms,’ is only 
melodrama metaphor, and ‘empty hearts’ are, begging your 
pardon, only figments of romantic brains. Our hearts aren’t 
empty, more’s the pity ! They hold deep, deep, the image 
of Vega, and the flare of the tallow candle on the surface 
serves as cross lights to dazzle the world, and help us to 
hide the reflection of our star. I saw that metaphor in 
some novel, and recognize its truth. Do you, my princess?” 

“I will never so utterly degrade myself. I could neither 
lower my standard, nor sacrifice my ideal,” said Leo, with a 
touch of scorn in her usually gentle voice. 

“You prefer that your ideal should sacrifice you? One 
enjoys for a season the wide expanse visibl'^ from that lofty 


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AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


emotional pinnacle; but the atmosphere is too rarefied, and 
we gladly descend to the warm, denser air of the plains of 
common sense selfishness. If it be lowering your standard 
to become the wife of a bishop (the youngest ever ordained 
in his State), clothed with the double distilled odors of 
sanctity and popularity, then heaven help your standard, 
which only heaven can fitly house.” 

“Since you persist in assuming that so flattering an ofifer 
has been made me, I will set this subject at rest, by a final 
assurance that even were your surmise correct, I could never 
under any imaginable circumstances marry my cousin. 
Bishop Douglass. Although I trust and reverence him be- 
yond all other men, ‘I love my cousin cousinly, no more," 
and he is too much absorbed by his holy office and its 
solemn responsibilities, to waste thought on the frail, sweet, 
rosy garland of any woman’s love. Fret yourself no longer 
in casting matrimonial horoscopes for me.” 

The flushed cheeks, and a certain icy curtness in Leo’s 
tone, warned her companion that she was rashly invading 
sacred precincts. 

“Eight years ago I made the solemn asseveration that I 
would never marry; and I ran as a raw recruit to swell the 
army of foolish virgins who lost all the wedding splendors, 
the hypothetical ‘cakes and ale’, for want of the oil of 
worldly wisdom.. Now I am thirty-three, and my lamp is 
filled to the brim, and the bridegroom is in sight. Why not? 
Adverse weather, rain, rust and mildew spoiled my beauti- 
ful golden harvest ten years ago, but aftermath is better 
than bare stubble fields, and though you miss the song of 
the reapers, you escape starvation. Deny it as we may, we 
are hopelessly given over to fetichism, and each one of us 
ties around her stone image some beguiling orthodox label. 
Leo, yours is pride, masquerading in the dun garb of ‘re- 
ligious duty’. Mine is self-love, pure and simple, the worldly 
weal of Alma Cutting; but nominally it is dubbed ‘grateful 
requital of a life of devotion’ in my lover! You grieve over 
my heartlessness ? That is the one compensation time brings, 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


455 


•when men and women have killed the best in our natures. 
Teeth ache fiercely; then the nerve dies, and we have sur- 
cease from pain, and find comfort in knowing that the 
darkening wreck can throb no more. There was a time 
when the pangs of Prometheus seemed only pastime to mine, 
but all things end; and now I get on as comfortably with- 
out a heart, as the victims of vivisection — the frogs, and 
guinea pigs, and rabbits — do without their brains.” 

“I do indeed grieve over the fatal step you contemplate; 
I grieve over your unwomanliness in marrying a man whom 
you do not even pretend to love; and some terrible penalty 
will avenge the outrage against feminine nature. Some 
day your heart will stir in its cold torpor, and then all 
Dante’s visions of horror, will become your realities, 
scourging you down to despair.” 

“Because ‘Farleigh Court’ may lie dangerously close to 
‘Denzil Place’? Be eas}^, Leo; the cold remains of my ossi- 
fied affection will lie in as decorous repose as the harmless 
ash heaps of some long buried daraosel of the era of Lars 
Pcrsenna, dug out of Vulci or Chiusi. To make a safe and 
brilliant marriage is the acme of social success. What else 
does the world to which I belong, offer me now?” 

“There remains always, Alma, the alternative of listening 
to the instinctive monitors God set to watch in every 
woman’s nature; and we have the precious and inalienable 
privilege of being true to ourselves. Better mourn your 
*bisc' than stoop to a lower substitute. Be loyal to yourself, 
be true to your own heart.” 

“I know myself rather too intimately to offer a tribute 
of admiration on the altar of ego; and I prefer to make 
the experiment of trying to be true and loyal to some one 
else, with whose imperfections I am not so well acquainted. 
When you meet your adorable 'bisc' in society, with a wife 
hanging on his arm, — when as pater familias he convoys his 
flock of small children who tread on your toes at the chrysan- 
themum shows, what then? The world, my world, is gener- 
ously and munificently lax, and though the limits of re- 


456 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


spectable endurance may be as hard to find as the 'fourth 
dimension of space’, or the authenticity of the ‘Book of 
Jasher’, still for decency’s sake we submit there are limits of 
decorum; certain proprietorial domains upon which we may 
not openly poach; and memn et tuum though moribund, is 
not yet numbered with belief in the ‘grail’. Female emanci- 
pation is not quite complete even in America, and noblesse 
oblige! our code still reads: ‘Zeus has unquestioned right to 
lo; but woe betide lo when she suns her heart in the smiles 
that belong to Hera !’ Some women find exhilaration in the 
effort to excel, by flying closest to the flame without singe- 
ing their satin wings; by executing a pirouette on the ex- 
tremest ledge of the abyss, yet escape toppling in; female 
Blondins skipping across the tight rope of Platonic friend- 
ship, stretched above the unmentionable. You are shocked?” 

“Indeed, I am pained. I can scarcely recognize the Alma 
of old.” 

“Wait one moment, I have the floor. In the days when 
I wept for my — shall I say 'bisc'f for impersonality is hedged 
about with safety), and the consolation prize had not yet 
been invited to come back from Coventry, a funny trifle set 
me to thinking seriously of. my sin of covetousness. One 
summer at a certain fashionable resort, let us call it vil~ 
leggiatura of the Lepidoptera, the amusement programme 
had reached the last act, and people yawned for something 
new, when ‘sweet charity’ came to the rescue, and proposed 
an entertainment to raise funds for enlarging an ecclesi- 
astical ‘Columbary’ where aged, unsightly and repentant 
doves might moult, and renew their plumage. Musical, 
dramatic, poetic recitations, and tableaux vivants constituted 
the method of collecting the money, and the selections would 
have made Rabelais chuckle. We had the most flagitiously 
erotic passages (rendered in costume) from opera and 
opera bouffe, living reproductions of the tragic pose of 
Paolo and Francesca that would have inspired Cabanel 
anew; of ‘Ginevra Da Siena,’ of ‘Vivien,’ — a carnival of the 
carnal ! where nurseries were robbed to supply the mimic 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


457 


ballet, and where bald-headed clergyman, and white-haired 
mothers in Israel clapped and encored. One fair forsaken 
dame, whose indignant spouse was seeking a divorce, came 
to the footlights in an artistic garment so decollete that a 
man sitting behind me whispered to his friend: ‘What pic- 
tures does she suggest to you? “Phryne before the Judges’^ 
— or Long’s “Thisbe?” She languorously waved a floral fan 
of crimson carnations, and recited with all of Siddons’ grace 
and Rachel’s fire selections from a book of poems, that were 
so many dynamite bombs of vice smothered in roses. Amid 
tumultuous applause, she gave as encore something that con- 
tained a fragment of Feydeau, and its closing words woke 
up my drowsy soul, like a clap of thunder : *Ce que les po'etes 
appellent V amour, et les moralistes V adulter e!' Leo, there 
is a moral somnambulism more frightful than that which 
leads to midnight promenades on the combs of roofs, and 
the borders of Goat Island; so I wiped my tears away, and 
after that day, began to read the billet doux and wear the 
flowers of my ‘consolation prize’.” 

“You do not love him, and your marriage will degrade 
you in your own estimation. Your bridal vows will be 
perjury, an insult to your God, and a foul terrible wrong 
against the man who trusts your truthfulness. According 
to our church, wedlock is a ‘holy ordinance’; and to me an 
unloving wife is unhallowed ; is a blot on her sex, only a few 
degrees removed from unmarried mothers. You know the 
difference between friendship and love, and when you go to 
the altar, and give the former in exchange for the latter, the 
base counterfeit for the true gold, you are consciously and 
premeditatedly dishonest.” 

“Thanks, for your clearness of diction, your perspicuity 
which leaves no cobweb of misty doubt wherewith to drape 
my shivering moral deformity ! To ‘see ourselves as others 
see us^ is as disappointing as the result of plunging one’s 
hand into the ‘grab-bag’, but at least it brings the stimulating 
tingle of a new sensation. Suppose each knows perfectly 
well that as regards the true gold, both are equally bank- 


458 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


rupt? There is a queer moral fungus called ‘honesty among 
thieves’, and we both know that we never sang snatches from 
Offenbach to each other, through pink 'bisc' lips. He loved 
quite desperately a mignonne of a blonde, with heavenly blue 
eyes and cherubic yellow hair, who, not knowing his expecta- 
tions from a California uncle, jilted him for a rich Cuban. 
Look you, Leo, because I cannot wear Kohinoor, must 
I disport myself without any diamond necklace? Since he 
can never own ‘La Peregrina,’ must he eschew pearl studs 
in his shield front? We distinctly understand that we are 
not first prizes ; but perhaps we may be something better than 
total blanks in the lottery, even though we quite realize the 
difference between love and friendship. Do you? Portia 
should know every jot and tittle of the law, and all the 
subtle shades of evidence, before she lifts her voice in court.” 

Alma pushed away her cushion, sat upright, and the slum- 
bering fire flashed up under her jet lashes. 

“If I do, that knowledge which earlier or later comes to 
all women, is certainly linked with the comforting conscious- 
ness that I can trust myself to govern and protect myself, 
without being tied to a watch-dog, whose baying would 
serve much the same purpose as that picture in mosaic in the 
House of the Tragic Poet. I have a very sincere affection 
for you, Alma, but the day on which you sell yourself in 
a loveless marriage, will strain hard on the cable of esteem.” 

“Is it for this reason that you refuse to officiate as my 
bridesmaid ?” 

“Solely because I will neither witness nor participate in 
an act which will give me great pain by lowering my esti- 
mate of your character.” 

Alma’s long, supple, tapering fingers were outstretched, 
and taking Leo’s white dimpled hands, drew them caress- 
ingly to her face, pressing a palm against each cheek. 

“Your good opinion is so precious, I cannot afford to lose 
it. We accept men’s flattery and expect their compliments, 
because it is a traditional homage that survives the chivalry 
that inspired it; but we don’t mistake chaff for wheat, and 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


459 


the purest, sweetest, noblest and holiest friendship in life is 
that of a true, good woman. The perfume is as different as 
the stale odor of a cigar, from the breath of the honey- 
suckle that bleached all night under crystal dew, floats in 
at your window like a message from heaven. I love you 
dearly, my pretty Portia, hence I wince a trifle at your 
harsh ascription of cave canem motives in my marriage. In 
the idyllic Arthurian days, the ‘Lily Maid of Astolot’ made 
a touching picture, weeping and dying for the man who 
rode away, marauding on kingly preserves; but this is the 
era of wise, common sense ‘Maud Mullers’, and she and the 
Judge, mating as best they can, lead peaceful lives in a 
wholesome atmosphere, and cause no scandal by following 
‘affinities’ across the lines of law; as some high in literature, 
art, and society have done, trusting that the starred mantle 
of genius would hide their moral leprosy. With all my 
faults, at -least I am honest ; and when I bow my stiff neck 
under the yoke connubial, I promise you I will keep step 
demurely and sedately. Do you remember a sombre book we 
read while yachting, which contained this brave confession 
of a woman, whose marriage made her historic? ‘I thought 
I had done with life. I knew I had now cause to be proud 
of belonging to this man, and I was proud. At the same 
time I as little feigned ardent love for him, as he demanded 
it from me.’ Leo, you and I represent different types. 
You are an eagle brooding in cold eternal solitude upon the 
heights, rather than be wooed by valley hawks; I am only 
a very tired wren, who missed a mate on my first Valen- 
tine season, and seeing my plumage grows a rusty brown, I 
accept the overtures of one similarly forlorn, and hope for 
serene domesticity under the sheltering eaves of some quiet, 
cosey barn. You are a nohler bird, no doubt; but trust me 
dear, I shall be the happier.” 

Leo withdrew her hands, and pushed back her chair, 
widening the space that divided them. 

“You disappoint me keenly. I thought you too brave tc 
crouch before the jeers hurled at ‘old maidenism’. Moral 


46 o at the mercy OF TIBERIUS 

cowardice is the last flaw I expected in one of your fibre.” 

“Wait till you are v, thirty-three, and stand as a target at 
Society’s archery meeting. Yesterday Celeste was pale with 
horror when she showed me two white hairs pulled from my 
"bangs’, and added, 'Helas mees ! and powdered hair no more 
the style!’ My dear girl — 

“ ‘True love, of course, is scarcely in society, 

Unless in fancy dress, and masked like one of us ’ 

still I really am very proud of my six feet two inches 
prospective conjugal yoke-fellow; proud of his martial bear- 
ing, his brilliant reputation, ‘proud of his pride’ ; and I think 
I shall grow very fond of him, because in a mild way I think 
he cares for me; and we can make a little Indian Summer 
for each other before the frosts of Winter fall upon us. 
What else can I do with my life? Think of it. Papa will 
be married soon, and while I don’t propose to tear my hair 
and insult his bride, nobody can be expected to reach such 
altitudes of self-abnegation as to want a step-mother. Poor 
papa, I am sure I hope he may be very happy, but it is 
superhuman to elect to live under the same roof, and smile 
benignantly on his bliss. Rivers, too, has slipped under the 
matrimonial noose, and I am absolutely thrown on my own 
resources for companionship. What does society offer me? 
Haggard, weazen old witch, bedizened in a painted mask; 
don’t I know the yellow teeth and bleared eyes behind the 
paste-board, and the sharp nails in the claws hidden under 
undressed kid? Have not I gone around for years on her 
gaudy wheel, like that patient, uncomplaining goat we saw 
stepping on the broad spokes of the great wheel that churned 
the butter, and pressed the cheese in that dairy, near Udine ? 
The dizzying circle, where one must step, step — keep time 
or be lost! In Winter, balls, receptions, luncheons, teas, 
Germans, theatre parties, opera suppers; a rush for the first 
glimpse of the last picture that emerges from the custom- 
house; for a bouquet of the newest rose that took the prize 
at the London Show. In season, coaching parties, tally ho ! 
Then fox hunting minus the fox, and later, boating and 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 461 

bathing and lawn tennis ! — and — always — everywhere heart- 
burnings, vapid formalities ; beaux setting belles at each other 
like terriers scrambling after a mouse ; mothers lying in wait^ 
as wise cats watching to get their paws on the first-class 
catch they know their pretty kittens cannot manage suc- 
cessfully. Oh ! Don’t I know it all ! I dare say my world 
is the very best possible of its kind; and I am not cynical,, 
but oh Lord ! I am so deadly tired of everything, and every- 
body.” 

“No wonder, unless you mercilessly calumniate it; but 
you have only yourself to blame. You made social success 
your aim, fashionable life your temple of worship, sham 
your only God. If you habitually drink poppy juice, can 
you fail to be drowsy?” 

“Oh bless you ! I have been polytheistic as any other 
well-read pagan of my day, and changed the heads and the 
labels of the fetiches on my altar almost as often as my ball 
wardrobe. I aspired to ‘culture’ in all the ‘cults’, and I 
improved diligently my opportunities. One year the stylish 
craze was aesthetics, and I fought my way to the front of 
the bedlamites raving about Sapphic t3^pes, ‘Sibylla Pal- 
mifera’ and ‘Astarte Syriaca’; and I wore miraculously limp, 
draggled skirts, that tangled about my feet tight as the robes 
of Burne Jones’ ‘Vivien.’ Next season the star of ceramics 
and bric-a-brac was in the ascendant, and I ran the gamut 
of Satsuma, Kyoto, de la Robbia, Limoge and Gubbio; of 
niello, and milleiiori glass, of Queen Anne brass and Jap- 
anese bronze; while my snuff boxes and my ‘symphony in 
fans’ graced all the loan exhibitions. Soon after, a cele- 
brated scientist from England who had bowled over all the 
pins set up by his predecessors, lectured in our Boeotia; and 
fired with zeal for truth, I swept aside all my costly idealistic 
rubbish into a ‘doomed pyramid of the vanities’, and swore 
allegiance to the Positive, the ‘Knowable’, whose priests 
handled hammers, spectroscopes, electric batteries — and who 
set up for me a whole Pantheon of science fetiches. I 
bought a microscope and peered into tissues, pollen cells. 


462 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


diatoms, ditch ooze; and pitied my clever and very talented 
grandmother who died ignorant of the family secrets re- 
vealed by ‘totemism’, ignorant of ‘parthenogenesis’ which 
proved so conclusively the truth of her own firm conviction, 
that the faults she deplored in her son’s children were all 
inherited directly from her daughter-in-law, whom she de- 
tested; ignorant of the fact that the sun which she regarded 
as a dazzling yellow fire was by bolometric measures shown 
to be in reality of a restful, and refreshing blue color. By 
the time I was fully convinced that teleology was as dead 
as the Ptolemaic theory, and that ‘wings were not planned 
for flight, but that flight has produced wings’, hence that 
Haeckel’s gospel of ‘Dysteleology’ or purposelessness in Na- 
ture satisfactorily explained creation — a great wave of ori- 
ental theosophy overflowed us; and a revival of Buddhism 
invited me to seek Nirvana as the final beatitude, where — 

“ ‘We shall be 

Part of the mighty universal whole, 

And through all aeons mix and mingle with the 
Kosmic Soul !’ 

Or to make matters clearer still: 

“‘Om, mani Padma, Om! the dewdrop slips 
Into the shining sea!’ 

Even a sponge can hold only so much, and I fell back — or 
shall I say forward — in the path of progress to rest in the 
dimness of agnosticism. Is it strange, Leo, that I am des- 
perately tired; and willing to plant my feet on the rock of 
matrimony, which will neither dissolve nor slip away, and 
to which my vows will moor me firmly?” 

“If you had clung to your Bible, and prayed more, you 
would not have wasted so signally the years that might have 
brought you enduring happiness. Forgive me, Alma, but 
you have lived solely for self.” 

“Yet now, when I propose to live solely for somebody 
else, you shake me off, and repudiate me ? Selfish you think ? 
I dare say I am, but religion now-a-day winks at that, nay 
fosters it. Each church is an octopus, and the members 
are laboriously striving to disprove the Saviour’s admoni- 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


463 


tion: ‘Ye cannot serve God and mammon.’ I am no worse 
than my ritualistic sisters whom I meet and gossip with, 
under cover of the organ muttering, and sometimes I wonder 
if after all we are any nearer the kingdom of heaven that 
Christ preached, than the pagans v/hose customs we retain 
under evangelical names. ‘They sacrificed a white kid to the 
propitious divinities, and a black kid to the unpropitious.’ 
Do not we likewise? The church or one of its pensioners 
needs money; so instead of denying ourselves some secular 
amusement, cutting short our chablis, terrapin, pate de foie 
gras, gateau, Grec, Amontillado; wearing less sealskin and 
sables, buying fewer pigeon-blood rubies, absolutely mortify- 
ing the flesh in order to offer a contribution out of our 
pockets to God, how ingeniously we devise schemes to ex- 
tract the largest possible amount of purely personal pleasure 
from the expenditure of the sum, we call our contribution 
to charity? We build chapels, and feed orphans, and clothe 
widows, and endow reformatories, and establish beds in 
hospitals, how? By a devout, consecrating self-denial which 
manifests itself in eating and drinking, in singing and 
dancing, at kirmess, charity balls, amateur theatricals, gar- 
den parties; where the cost 'of our XV. Siecle costume is 
quadruple the price of the ticket that admits to our sacrifice 
of black and white kids in the same sanctuary. We serve 
God with one hand, and we surely serve with the other the 
Mammon of selfishness and vanity. We have Lenten serv- 
ice, Lenten dietetics. Lenten costumes even; Lenten pro- 
gressive euchre. Lenten clubs; but where are the Lenten 
virtues, where the genuine humility, charity, self-dedication 
of body and soul to true holiness?” 

“The church is a school. If pupils will not heed admoni- 
tion, and defy the efforts of instructors, is the institution 
responsible for the failure in education? The eradication of 
selfishness is the mission of the churches ; and if we individ- 
ually practised at home a genuine self-denial for righteous- 
ness’ sake, we should collectively show the world fewer flaws 
for scoffing reprimand.” 


464 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


“The Shepherds are too timid to control their flocks. If 
they only had the nerve to pick us up, turn our hearts 
inside out, show us the black corners, and the ossifications, 
and call sin, sin, we should begin to realize what despicable 
shams we are. Dr. Douglass, the Bishop, is the only one 
I know who lays us on the dissecting table, and who does 
not speak of ‘human fallibility’ when he means vice. He 
told us one day that the Gospel required a line of demarca- 
tion between the godly and the ungodly, between Christians 
and unbelievers; but that it has become imaginary like the 
meridian and the equator; and that he very much feared 
the strongest microscope in the laboratories could not find 
where the boundary line ran,, between the World, the Flesh 
and the Devil, and the Kingdorn of God in our souls. I am 
sorry a distant State called him to her Episcopal chair, for 
his cold steel is needed among us. Now tell me, Leo, what 
you intend to do with your life?” 

“Spend it for God and my fellow creatures; and enjoy 
all the pure happiness I can appropriate without wronging 
others. I have so many privileges granted me, that I ought 
to accomplish some good in this world, as a thank offering.” 

“Take care you don’t make a fetich of Jerusalem mis- 
sions, Chinese tracts, and Sheltering Arms; and lose your 
dear, sweet personality in a goody-goody machine bigot. 
Forgive me, dear old girl, but sometimes I fear a shadow has 
fallen in your sunshine.” 

“Sooner or later they fall into every life, yet mine will 
pass away I feel assured. ‘Pain, suffering, failure are as 
needful as ballast to a ship, without which it does not draw 
enough water, becomes a plaything for the winds and waves, 
travels no certain road, and easily overturns.’ If the gloom- 
iest pessimist of this century can extract that comfort, what 
may I not hope for my future? I am going to rebuild my 

house at X and when it is completed, I shall expect 

the privilege of returning the hospitality you have so kindly 
shown me. I shall be very busy for at least two years, and 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 465 

I am glad to know that Aunt Patty is beginning to manifest 
some interest in my plans.” 

“Leo, may I ask something?” 

“If you are quite sure you have the right to ask, and 
that I can have no reason to decline answering.” 

“I can’t bear that you should live and die without being 
a happy wife. I don’t want you to become a mere benevo- 
lent automaton set aside for church work, and charities; 
getting solemn and thin, with patient curves deepening 
around your mouth, and loneliness looking out of — 

“ ‘Eyes, meek as gentle Mercy’s at the throne of heaven.’ ” 

“To be a happv wife is the dream of womanhood, and if 
the day should ever dawn when God gives me that crown 
of joy, I shall wear it gladly, proudly, and feel that this 
world has yielded me its richest blessing; but, Alma, to-day 
I know no man whom I could marry with the hope of that 
perfect union which alone sanctions and hallows wedded 
love. I must be all the world to my husband; and he — 
next to God — must be the universe to me. There is Gen’l 
Haughton coming up the stairs, so I considerately efface 
myself. Good-bye till luncheon.” 

As she glided away and disappeared behind the curtain 
leading into the library, Alma looked after her, with very 
misty eyes, full of tenderness. 

“Brave, proud soul; deep, sorrowful heart. If she can’t 
drown her star, at least she will admit no lesser light. She 
will never swerve one iota from her lofty standard, and 
some day, please God, she may yet wear her coveted crown 
right royally. Governor Glenbeigh is worthy even of her, 
but will his devotion win her at last?” 


466 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

If it be true that the universal Law of Labor, physical 
or mental, emanated from the Creator as a penal statute, 
for disobedience which forfeited Eden, how merciful and 
how marvellous is the delicacy of an adjustment, whereby 
all growth of body, mind and soul being conditioned by 
work, humanity converts punishment into benediction; es- 
capes degeneration, attains development solely in accord- 
ance with the provisions of the primeval curse, man’s heri- 
tage of labor? Amid the wreck of sacerdotal systems, the 
destruction of national gods, the periodical tidal waves of 
scepticism, the gospel of work maintains triumphantly its 
legions of evangels ; its apostolic succession direct from 
Adam; its myriad temples always alight with altar fires, 
always vocal with the sublime hymn swelling from millions 
of consecrated throats. 

The one infallible tonic for weakened souls, the one su- 
preme balm for bruised hearts is the divinely distilled 
chrism of labor. 

Absorbed in the round of duties that employed her hands 
and thoughts, and necessitated dedication of every waking 
hour, Beryl found more solace than she had dared to hope; 
and the artistic fancies which she had supposed extinguished, 
spread their frail gossamer wings and fluttered shyly into 
the serene sunshine that had broken upon her frozen life. 
The distinctively ornamental character of many of the in- 
dustrial pursuits at the “Anchorage”, demanded originality 
and variety of designs, and as this department had been 
assigned to her, she entered with increasing zest the tempting 
field of congenial employment; yet day by day, bending 
over her tasks, she never lost sight o ' the chain that clanked 
at her wrist, that bound her to a hi 'eous past, to a murky, 
lowering and menacing future. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


467 


Weeks slipped away, months rolled on ; Autumn overtook 
her. Winter snows and sleet blanched the heavenly blue 
of the dimpling lake, and no tidings reached her from the 
wanderer, for v/hom she prayed. The advertisement had 
elicited no reply, and though it had long ceased to appear, 
she daily searched the personal column of the “ Herald ”, with 
a vague expectation of some response. If her brother still 
lived, was the world so wide, that she could never trace 
his erring passage through it ? Would no instinct of natural 
aifection prompt him to seek news of the mother who had 
idolized him ? After a while she must renew the quest, but 
for the present, safety demanded her seclusion ; and since 
only Doctor Grantlin knew the place of her retreat, she felt 
secure from discovery. 

One Spring day, when warm South winds had kissed open 
the spicy lips of lilacs, and yellowed the terrace with crocus 
flakes. Beryl dismissed her class of pupils in drawing and 
painting, and was engaged in dusting the plaster casts, and 
arranging the palettes and pencils left in disorder. The 
door opened, and a pretty, young German Sister looked in. 

“ Sister Ruth have need of you to do some errands ; and 
you must go on the street ; so you will get your bonnet and 
veil. Is it that you will be there soon .? ” 

“ I will come at once. Sister Elsbeth.” 

For several days Sister Ruth had been confined to her 
room by inflammatory rheumatism, and when Beryl entered, 
the invalid presented the appearance of a mummy swathed 
in red flannel, 

“ I am sorry to disturb you, and equally sorry that I feel 
obliged to exact a reluctant service, because I know you 
dislike to visit the business part of the city, and there I must 
send you. This note from Mrs. Vanderdonk will explain the 
nature of the business, which I can intrust to no one except 
yourself ; and you will see that the commission admits of no 
delay. Here is your car fare. Go first to No. 100 Lucre 
Avenue, talk fully with Mrs. Vanderdonk, and then ride 
down to Jardon & Jackson’s and get all the material you 


468 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


think will be required. You will observe, she lays great 
stress on the superfine quality of the plush. Order the bill 
delivered with the goods ; and if anything be required in your 
department, you had better leave the list with Kling & 
Turner.’^ 

Three squares south of the “Anchorage” ran a line of 
street cars which carried her away to the heart of the city; 
and at the expiration of an hour and a half. Beryl had 
executed the commission, and was walking homeward, watch- 
ing for a car which would expedite her return. Dreading 
identification, she went rarely into the great thoroughfare; 
and now felt doubly shielded from observation by the Quaker- 
shaped drab bonnet and veil that covered her white cap. 
As she was passing the entrance of a dancing academy, 
a throng of boys and girls poured out, filling the sidewalk, 
and creating a temporary blockade, through which a gen- 
tleman laden with several packages, elbowed his way. A 
moment later. Beryl’s foot struck some obstacle, and looking 
down she saw a large portfolio lying on the pavement. It 
was a handsome morocco case, with the initials “G. McL”, 
stamped in gilt upon the cover, which was tied with well- 
worn strings. She held it up, looked around, even turned 
back, thinking that the owner might have returned to search 
for it ; but the gentleman who had hurried through the crowd 
was no longer visible, and in the distance she fancied she 
saw a similar figure cross the street, and spring upon a car 
rolling in the opposite direction. 

The human clot had dissolved, the juvenile assembly had 
drifted away; and as no one appeared to claim the lost 
article, she signalled to the driver of the car passing just 
then, entered and took a seat in one corner. The only pas- 
sengers were two nurses with bands of little ones, seeking 
fresh air in a neighboring park ; and slipping the book under 
her veil. Beryl began to examine its contents. A glance 
showed her that it belonged to some artist, and was filled 
with sketches neatly numbered and dated ; while between the 
leaves lay specimens of ferns and lichens carefully pressed. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


469 

The studies were varied, and in all stages of advancement; 
here two elk heads and a buffalo ; there a gaunt coyote 
crouching in the chaparral; a cluster of giant oaks; far off, 
a waving line of mountain peaks; a canon with vultures 
sailing high above it; cow boys, and a shoreless sea of 
prairie, with no shadows except those cast by filmy clouds 
drifting against the sun. Slowly turning the leaves, which 
showed everywhere a master’s skilful hand, Beryl found two 
sheets of paper tied together with a strand of silk; and be- 
tween them lay a fold of tissue paper, to preserve some 
delicate lines. She untied the knot, and carefully lifted the 
tissue, looking at the sketch. 

A faint, inarticulate cry escaped her, and she sank back 
an instant in the corner of the seat; but the chatter of the 
nurses, and the whimpering wail of one dissatisfied baby 
mercifully drowned the sound. The car, the trees on the 
street, the belfry of a church seemed spinning in some 
witch’s dance, and an icy wind swept over and chilled her. 
She threw aside her veil, stooped, and her lips whitened. 

What was there in the figure of a kneeling monk, to drive 
the blood in cold waves to her throbbing heart? The sketch 
represented the head and shoulders of a man, whose cowl 
had fallen back, exposing the outlines and moulding of a 
face and throat absolutely flawless in beauty, yet darkened 
by the reflection of some overpowering and irremediable 
woe. The features were youthful as St. Sebastian’s ; the 
expression that of one prematurely aged by severe and unre- 
mitting mental conflict; but neither shaven crown, nor cowl 
availed to disguise Bertie Brentano, and as his sister’s eyes 
gazed at the sketch, it wavered, swam, vanished in a mist of 
tears. 

In one corner of the sheet a man’s hand had written 
^‘Brother Luke”, August the loth. Had relenting fate, or 
a merciful prayer-answering-God placed in her hand the 
long sought clue ? When Beryl recovered from the shock of 
recognition, and looked around, she found the car empty; 
and discovered that she had been carried several squares 


470 


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beyond the street where she intended to get out and walk. 

Carefully replacing the tissue paper and silk thread, sht 
tied the leathern straps of the portfolio, and left the car: 
holding the sketches close to her heart as she hurried home- 
ward. When she turned a corner and caught sight of the 
bronze anchor over the door, she involuntarily slackened 
her pace, and at the same moment a policeman crossed the 
street, stood in front of her, and touched his cap. The sight 
of his uniform thrilled her with a premonition of danger. 

“Pardon me, Sister, but something has been lost on the 
street.’' 

“A portfolio? I have found it.” 

“It is very valuable to the owner.” 

“I intend having it advertised in to-morrow’s paper.” 

“The person to whom it belongs, wishes to leave the city 
to-night, hence his haste in trying to recover it.” 

“I picked it up in front of Heilwiggs’ Dancing Academy. 
How did you know who had found it?” 

“The owner discovered he had dropped it, soon after he 
boarded a car, where Captain Tunstall of our force happened 
to be, and he at once telegraphed to all the stations to be 
on the look out. A boot-black whose stand is near Heil- 
wiggs’, reported that he saw one of the ‘Gray Women’ pick 
up something, and get on an upbound car. Our station was 
telephoned to interview the ‘Anchorage’, so you see we are 
prompt. I was just going over to ring the bell, and make 
inquiries.” 

“Who lost the book ?” 

“A man named Mcllvane, an Englishman I think, who is 
obliged to hurry on to-night, in order to catch some New 
York steamer where his passage is engaged.” 

“You are sure he is a foreigner?” asked Beryl, who was 
feverishly revolving the possibility that the sketch belonged 
to some detective, and was intended for identification of the 
picture on the glass door at X . 

“You can’t be sure of anything that is only lip deep, but 
that was the account telephoned to us. There is a reward 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


471 


of twenty dollars if the book is delivered by eight p.m. ; after 
that time, ten dollars, and directions left by which to for- 
ward it to London. He said it was worthless to anybody 
else, but contained a lot of pictures he valued.” 

“I do not want the reward, but before I surrender the 
portfolio, I must see the owner.” 

‘‘Why?” 

“For reasons that concern only myself. He can come 
here, and claim his property; or I will take it to him, and 
restore it, after he has answered some questions. You are 
quite welcome to the reward, which I am sure you merit 
because of your promptness and circumspection. Will you 
notify him that he can obtain his book by calling at the 
‘Anchorage’ ?” 

“Our instructions are, to deliver the book at Room 213, 
Hotel Lucullus. It is now four o’clock.” 

“I will not surrender the book to you; but I will accom- 
pany you to the hotel, and deliver it to the owner in your 
presence. Let us lose no time.” 

“Very well. Sister, I’ll keep a little behind, and jump on 
the first red star car that passes down. Look out for me 
on the platform, and I’ll stop the car for you.” 

“Thank you,” said Beryl, wondering whether the sanctity 
of her garb exacted this mark of deference, or whether the 
instinctive chivalry of American manhood prompted him to 
spare her the appearance of police surveillance. 

Keeping her in sight, he loitered until they found them- 
selves on the same car, where the officer, apparently en- 
grossed by his cigarette, retained his stand on the rear plat- 
form. In front of the hotel two omnibuses were discharging 
their human freight, and in the confusion. Beryl and her 
escort passed unobserved into the building. He motioned 
her into one of the reception rooms on the second floor, and 
made his way to the office. 

Drawing her quaint bonnet as far over her face as possi- 
ble, and straightening her veil, Beryl sat down on a sofa 
and tried to quiet the beating of her pulses, the nervous 


472 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


tremor that shook her. She had ventured shyly out of her 
covert, and like all other hunted creatures, trembled at her 
own daring in making capture feasible. Memory rendered 
her vaguely apprehensive; bitter experience quickened her 
suspicions. 

Was she running straight into some fatal trap, ingeniously 
baited with her brother’s portrait? Would the Sheriff in 

X , would Mr. Dunbar himself, recognize her in her 

gray disguise? She walked to a mirror set in the wall, and 
stared at her own image, put up one hand and pushed out 
of sight every ring of hair that showed beneath the white 
cap frill; then reassured, resumed her seat. How long the 
waiting seemed. 

Somebody’s pet Skye terrier, blanketed with scarlet satin 
embroidered with a monogram in gilt, had defied the hien- 
seance of fashionable canine and feline etiquette, by flying 
at somebody’s sedate, snowy Maltese cat, whose collar of 
silver bells jangled out of tune, as the combatants rolled on 
the velvet carpet, swept like a cyclone through the reception 
room, fled up the corridor. Two pretty children, gay as 
paroquets, in their cardinal plush cloaks, ran to the piano 
and began a furious tattoo, while their nurse gossiped with 
the bell boy. 

With her hands locked around the portfolio. Beryl sat 
watching the door; and at last the policeman appeared at 
the threshold, where he paused an instant, then vanished. 

A gentleman apparently forty years of age came in, and 
approached her. He was short in stature, florid, slightly 
bald; wore mutton chop whiskers, and a traveling suit of 
gray tfweed broadly checked. 

Beryl rose, the stranger bowed. 

“Ah, you have my sketch book ! Madam, I am eternally 
your debtor. Intrinsically worthless, perhaps; yet there are 
reasons which make it inestimably valuable to me.” 

“I picked it up from the pavement, and though I opened 
and examined it, you will find the contents intact. Will you 
look through it?” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


473 


“Oh ! I dare say it is all right. No one cares for unfin- 
ished sketches, and these are mere studies.” 

He untied the thongs, turned over a dozen or more pa- 
pers, then closed the lid, and put his hand in his pocket. 

“I offered a reward to — ” 

“I wish no fee, sir; but the policeman has taken some 
trouble in the matter, and without his aid I should probably 
not have been able to restore it. Pay him what you prom- 
ised, or may deem proper; and then permit me to ask for 
some information, which I think you can give me.” 

She beckoned to the officer who looked in just then; and 
when the money had been counted into his hand, the latter 
lifted his cap. 

“Sister, shall I see you safe on the car?” 

“Thank you, no. I can find my way home. I teach draw- 
ing at the ‘Anchorage", and desire to ask a few questions of 
this gentleman, who I am sure is an artist.” 

When the policeman had left them. Beryl took the port- 
folio and opened it, while the owner watched her curiously, 
striving to penetrate the silver gray folds of her veil. 

“May I ask whether you expect to leave America imme- 
diately?” 

“I expect to sail on the steamer for Liverpool next Satur- 
day.’" 

“Have you relatives in this country?” 

“None. I am merely a tourist, seeking glimpses of the 
best of this vast continent of yours.” 

“Did you make these sketches?’" 

“I did, from time to time; in fact, mine has been a 
sketching tour, and this book is one of several I have filled 
in Am.erica.’" 

With trembling fingers she untied the silk, lifted the 
sketch, and said in a voice which, despite her efforts, quiv- 
ered : 

“I hope, sir, you will not consider me unwarrantably in- 
quisitive, if I ask, where did you see this face?” 

“Ah ! My monk of the mountains ? That is ‘Brother 


474 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


Luke’; looks like one of II Frate’s wonderful heads, does 
he not? I saw him— let me see? Egad ! Just exactly where 
it was, that is the rub ! It was far west, beyond Assiniboia ; 
somewhere in Alberta I am sure.” 

“Was it on British soil, or in the United States?” 

“Certainly in British territory; and on one of the ex- 
cursions I made from Calgary. I think it was while hunting 
in the mountains between Alberta and British Columbia. 
Let me see the sketch. Yes — loth of August; I was in that 
region until ist of September.” 

Beryl drew a deep breath of intense relief, as she reflected 
that foreign territory might bar pursuit; and leaning for- 
ward, she asked hesitatingly; 

“Have you any objection to telling me the circumstances 
under which you saw him; the situation in which you found 
him ?” 

“None whatever; but may I ask if you know him? Is my 
sketch so good a portrait?” 

“It is wonderfully like one I knew years ago ; and of whom 
I desire to receive tidings. My friend is a handsome man 
about twenty-four years of age.” 

“I was camping out with a hunting party, and one day 
while they were away gunning, I went to sketch a bit of fir 
wood clinging to the side of a rocky gorge. The day was 
hot, and I sat down to rest in the shadow of a stone ledge, 
that jutted over the cove where a spring bubbled from the 
crag, and made a ribbon of water. Here is the place, on this 
sheet. Over there, are the fir trees. Very soon I heard 
a rich voice chanting a solemn strain from Palestrinas’ 
Miserere', the very music I had listened to in the Sistine 
Chapel, a few months before; and peeping from my shel- 
tered nook, I saw a man clad in monkish garb stoop to 
drink from the spring. He sat a while, with his arms clasped 
around his knees, and his profile was so perfect I seized my 
pencil and drew the outlines; but before I completed it, he 
suddenly fell upon his knees, and the intense anguish, re- 
morse, contrition — what not — so changed the countenance, 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


475 


that while he prayed, I made rapidly a new sketch. Then the 
most extraordinary thing happened. He rose, and turning 
fully toward me, I saw that one-half of his face was nobly 
regular, classically perfect; while the other side was’ hide- 
ously distorted, deformed. Absolutely he was ‘Hyperion and 
Satyr’ combined — with one set of features between them. I 
suppose my astonishment caused me to utter some exclama- 
tion, for he glanced up the cliff, saw me, turned and fled. 
I shouted and ran, but could not overtake him, and when 
I reached the open space, I saw a figure speeding away on 
a white mustang pony, and knew from the fluttering of the 
black skirts that it was the same man. My sketch shows 
the right side of his face, the other was drawn down almost 
beyond the lineaments of humanity. Beg pardon, madam, 
but would you be so good as to tell me whether this freak 
of nature was congenital, or the result of some frightful 
accident ?” 

Beryl had shut her eyes, and her lips were compressed to 
stifle the moan that struggled in her throat. When she 
spoke, the stranger detected a change in her voice. 

“The person whose countenance was recalled by your 
sketch, was afflicted by no physical blemish, when last I saw 
him.” 

“His appearance was so singular, that I made sundry 
inquiries about him, but only one person seemed ever to have 
encountered him; and that was a half-breed Indian driver, 
belonging to our party. He told me, ‘Brother Luke’ be- 
longed to a band of monks living somewhere beyond the 
mountains; and that he sometimes crossed, searching for 
stray cattle. That is the history of my sketch, and since I 
am indebted to you for its recovery, I regret for your sake 
that it is so meagre.” 

“It was last August that you made the sketch ?” 

“Last August. And nov/ may I ask, to whom my th-.rVs 
are due ?” 

“I am merely an humble member of a sisterhood of work- 
ing women, and my name could possess no interest for you, 


476 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


I owe you an apology for trespassing upon your time, and 
prying into the mysteries of your portfolio; but the beauty 
of your sketch, and its startling resemblance to one in whom 
I have long felt an interest, must plead my pardon. I am 
grateful, sir, for your courtesy, and will detain you no 
longer.” 

He bowed profoundly; she bent her head, and walked 
quickly away, keeping her face lowered, dreading observa- 
tion. 

For the first time since her trial and conviction, a sensa- 
tion of perfect tranquillity shed rest upon her anxious and 
foreboding heart. Bertie was safe from capture, on foreign 
soil; and the testimony of the traveller that he prayed in 
the solitude of the wilderness, brought her the comforting 
assurance, that the fires of remorse had begun the purifica- 
tion of his sinful soul from the crime that had blackened so 
many lives. Trained in his early youth at a Jesuit College, 
his sympathies had ever been with the priesthood to whom 
his tutors belonged; and his sister readily understood how 
swiftly he, fled to their penitential, expiatory system, when 
the blood of his grandfather had stained his hands, and the 
scouts of the law hunted him to desert wilds. 

Vain of the personal beauty that had always distinguished 
him, she comprehended the keenness of the humiliation, 
which would goad him to screen in a cloister, the facial 
mutilation, that punished him more excruciatingly than hair 
shirt, or flagellation. Beyond the reach of extradition (as 
she fondly hoped), inviolate beneath the cowl of some Order 
which, in piotecting his body, essayed also to cleanse, re- 
generate and sanctify his imperilled soul, could she not now 
dismiss the tormenting apprehension that sleeping or waking 
had persistently dogged her, since the day when she sav/ the 
fuchsias on the handkerchief, and the mother-of-pearl grapes 
on the sleeve button, in the penitentiary cell? 

In a crisis of dire extremity, overborne by adversity, ter- 
rified by the realization of human helplessness, we fly to 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


477 

God, and barter by promise all our future, for the boon of 
temporary succor. 

How different, how holy the mood that brings us in tear- 
ful gratitude to dedicate our lives to His service, when hav- 
ing abandoned all hope. His healing hand lifts us out of long 
agony intc inexpected rest? 

When an ignominious death stared this woman in the 
face, she had cried to her God: “Though You slay me, yet 
will I trust You !” and to-night she bowed her head in 
prayer, thankful that the uplifted hand held no longer a 
dagger, but had fallen tenderly in benediction. 

Far away in the heart of the city, the clock in its granite 
tower was striking two; yet Beryl knelt at her oriel win- 
dow, with her arms crossed on the wide sill, and her eyes 
fixed upon the shimmering sea, where a soft south wind 
ruffled it into ridges of silver, beneath a full May moon. 
Beyond those silent waters, hidden in some lonely, snow- 
girt eyry, where perhaps the muffled thunder of the Pacific 
responded to the midnight chants of his oratory, dwelt 
Bertie; and to touch his hand once more, to hear from his 
own lips that he had made his peace with God, to kiss him 
good-bye seemed all that was left for accomplishment. 

Poor and unknown, she lacked apparently every means 
requisite for this attainment; but faith, patience, and cour- 
age were hers. Daily work for daily wage was the present 
duty; and in God’s good time she would find her brother. 
How, or when, so expensive and difficult a quest could be 
successfully prosecuted, disquieted her not; she had learned 
to labor and to trust; she remembered: “Their strength is 
to sit still.” 

The symphony of her life was set in minors, yet subtle 
and perfect was the harmony that dwelt therein; and be- 
cause she had sternly shut love out of her lonely heart, she 
kept votive lights burning ceaselessly on the cold altar of 
duty. The solitary red rose of happiness that might have 
brightened and perfumed her thorny path, she had cut off, 
ere the bud expanded, and offered it as a loyal tribute to 


478 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


broaden the garland that crowned Miss Gordon. At the 
mandate of conscience, she had unmurmuringly surrendered 
this precious blossom, but memory was tantalizingly ten- 
acious ; and in sorrowful hours of sore temptation, the brave, 
pure soul came swiftly to the rescue of famishing heart: 
“What? Is it so hard for us to keep the Ten Command- 
ments? Do we covet our neighbor’s lover?” 

In the garden of earthly existence, some are ordained to 
bloom as human plantce tristes, shedding their delicate 
aroma like the “Pretty-by-nights”, only when the glory of 
the day is done, and twilight shadows coax open their pure 
hearts. 

To-night she seemed cradled in the arms of peace, soothed 
by an unfaltering trust that whispered: 

“Would I could wish my wishes all to rest; 

And know to wish the wish, that were the best.” 

While her lips moved in a prayer for Bertie, she felt 
asleep ; like a child at ease, after long paroxysms of pain. 
When she awoke, the lilacs were swinging their purple thuri- 
bles filled with dew, in honor of the new day; a silvery 
mist, tinged here and there with the pale pink hue of an 
almond blossom, wavered and curled over the quiet lake, and 
a robin red-breast, winging his way from the orange and 
jasmine boughs of the far sweet South, rested on the ivied 
wall, and poured out his happy heart in a salutatory to the 
rising sun. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


“I FEAR, my sister, that you have made a great mistake 
in refusing an offer of marriage, which almost any woman 
might be proud to accept.” 

Sister Ruth closed her writing desk, and looked at Beryl 
over her spectacles. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


479 

“Why should you infer that any such proposal has been 
made to me?” 

“Simply because I know all that has occurred, and my 
cousin writes me that you decline to marry him. If you had 
intended to remain here and identify yourself with this insti- 
tution, I could better understand your motives in rejecting 
a man who offers you wealth, good looks, a stainless repu- 
tation, an honored name, and the best possible social posi- 
tion.” 

“All of which tempt me in no degree. Mr. Brompton is 
doubtless everything you consider him; lives in a brown 
stone palace, is an influential and respected citizen, but com- 
paratively, we are strangers. He bought my pictures, took 
a fleeting fancy to my face, and to my great surprise, in- 
dulged in a romantic whim. What does he comprehend of 
my past? How little he understands the barrier that shuts 
me out from the lot of most women.” 

“He is fully acquainted with every detail of your life that 
has been confided to me, or discovered by the public; and 
he has studied and admired you ever since you came to 
dwell among us. In view of your very peculiar history, you 
must admit that his affection is certainly strong. If you 
married him, your past would be effectually blotted out.” 

“I have no desire to blot it out, and though misfortune 

overshadowed my name, it is the untarnished legacy my 

father left me, and I hold it very sacred ; wrap it as a mantle 

about me. When suspicion of any form of disgrace falls 

upon a woman, it is as though some delicate flower had 
been thrust too close to a scorching fire; and no matter 
how quickly or how far removed, no matter how heavy the 
dews that empearl it, how fresh and cool the wind that 
sweeps over it, how bright the sun that feeds its pulses, — 
the curled petals are never smoothed, the hot blasts leaves its 
ineffaceable blight. To me, the thought of marriage comes 
no more than to one who knows death sits waiting only for 
the setting of the sun, to claim his own. That phase of 
life is as inaccessible and uninviting to me, as Antartic cir- 


480 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


cumpolar lands; and even in thought, I have no temptation 
to explore it. My future and my past are so interblended, 
that I could as easily tear out my heart and continue to 
breathe, as attempt to separate them. I have a certain -work 
to do, and its accomplishment bars all other paths.” 

“Does the nature of that v^ork involve vo’ws of celibacy?” 

“Sometimes fate decrees for us, allowing no voluntary 
vows. How soon the path to my work will open before 
me, I cannot tell ; but the day must come, and like a pilgrim 
girded, I wait and watch.” 

“Can you find elsewhere a nobler field of work than sur- 
rounds you here?” 

“Certainly not, and some dross of selfishness mingles with 
the motives that will ultimately bear me beyond these hal- 
lowing precincts; yet a day may come, when having fulfilled 
a sacred duty, I shall travel back, praying you to let me 
live, and work, and die among you.” 

“My sister, your patient submission, your tireless applica- 
tion, have endeared you to me; and I should grieve to lose 
you from our little gray band, where your artistic labors 
have reflected so much credit on the ‘Home’.” 

“Thank you. Sister Ruth; praise from fellow toilers is 
praise indeed, and the greatest blessing one human being can 
bestow upon another, I owe to you; the blessing of being 
helped to procure work, which enables me to help myself. 
If I leave the ‘Anchorage’ for a season, it will be on an 
errand such as Noah’s dove went forth from refuge to per- 
form; and when I return with my olive branch, the deluge 
of my life will have spent its fury, and I shall rest in peace 
where the ark is anchored.” 

“Do you imagine that desertion from our ranks will be 
so readily condoned? Drum-head court martial obtains 
here.” 

“Would you call it desertion, if seizing the flag of duty 
that floats over us here, I forsook the camp only long enough 
to scout on a dangerous outpost, to fight single-handed a 
desperate battle ! If I fell, the folds of our banner would 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


481 

shroud me; if I conquered, would you not all greet me, 
when weary and worn I dragged myself back to the ranks? 
Some day, when I tap at the ark window, you will open 
your arms and take me in; for then my earthly mission will 
have ended, and the smoke of the accepted sacrifice will 
linger in my garments.” 

“Meantime, to-day’s duties demand attention. I have a 
note from Cyril Brompton requesting that special courtesy 
be shown by us to his friend, the new Bishop, who is in 
the city, and who desires to inspect the ‘Anchorage’. Cyril 
declines escorting the party, because he finds it painful to 
meet you now, and he wishes particularly that you should 
show your own department. I shall not be able to climb 
to the third story, while my ankles are so swollen, so I 
must deputize you to do the honors on your floor. Hold 
yourself in readiness, if I should send for you, and do not 
forget to give the Bishop a package of the new prospectus 
of the art school. That basket of orchids must be deliv- 
ered before five o’clock. Sister Joanna said you detained 
her to make a sketch of it.” 

“I had almost finished when you summoned me. Send 
her up for the basket in half an hour.” 

The long studio was deserted, and very quiet on that 
sultry Saturday afternoon in midsummer, and the drowsy air 
was laden with fragrance from the pots of white carna- 
tions, massed on the iron balcony, upon which the tall, plate 
glass windows opened to the north. Down the centre of 
the apartment ran a table covered with oil cloth, and on the 
walls hung pictures in oil, water-color, crayon, while upon 
brackets and pedestals were mounted plaster casts, terra 
cotta heads, a few bronzes, and some hammered brass 
plaques. In the corners of the room, four marvels of 
taxidermy contributed brilliant colors mixed on the feath- 
ered palettes of a pea-fowl, a scarlet flamingo, a gold and a 
silver pheasant, all perched on miniature mounds, built of 
curious specimens of rock, of shells, coral and sphagnum. 

The slow, languid swish, swish of the waters stirred by 


482 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


a passing steamer, broke on the cliff beyond the wall; and 
along the sky line where lake and atmosphere melted in- 
sensibly into blue distance, great cumulus copper-colored 
clouds hooded with salmon-tinted folds, tipped here and 
there with molten silver, shadowed with pearly hollows, hung 
entranced by their own image, over the inland sea that 
gleamed like a mirror. 

At the end of the studio, near the open windows. Beryl 
had placed the plateau basket of orchids on the table; and 
she stood before an easel, transferring to the surface of 
a concave brass plaque, the fluted outlines of the scarlet and 
orange ribbons, the vivid green, purple and golden-brown 
lips, the rose velvet cups, the tender canary-hued calyxes of 
the glistening floral mass, whose aroma seemed a panting 
breath from equatorial jungles. Having secured the strange 
forms of these vegetable simulacra of the insect world, she 
replaced the sheathing of tissue paper around the gorgeous 
mosaic of color; and just then. Sister Joanna threw open 
the door, and ushered in a party of visitors, consisting of 
two gentlemen and a lady. One was Mr. Kendall, a mem- 
ber of the Chapter of Trustees. 

“Good evening. Sister. Bishop Douglass, of our State, 
and Miss Gordon, from the South. I have been boasting 
to them of the perfect success of the ‘Anchorage’, as an 
industrial institution. Will you show us some of the work 
done in this department?” 

As on a swiftly revolving wheel. Beryl saw the black 
eyes and gold-rimmed spectacles of Leighton Douglass; the 
shield-shaped amethyst ring on his broad, white hand; the 
slender figure by his side, draped in some soft brown tint 
of surah silk, the blond hair, the wide, startled hazel eyes 
of Leo, who made a step forward, then paused irresolute. 

The gaze of the visitors was fastened upon the superb 
form wearing the gray garb of flannel, with snowy fluted 
frills at the rounded wrists and throat, and a rufiied white 
muslin mob cap crowning rich waves of bronze hair, that 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 483 

framed a beautiful pale face, whose gray eyes kept always 
the soft shadow of their long jet lashes. 

Only half a minute sufficed to gird Beryl, and with no hint 
of recognition in her tranquil countenance, she moved for- 
ward, opened the drawers, and spread out for inspection 
various specimens of drawing and painting, in all stages of 
advancement. 

A crimson tide overflowed Leo’s cheeks, but accepting the 
cue of silence, she refrained from any manifestation of 
previous acquaintance; and bending over the pictures, lis- 
tened to the grave, sweet voice that briefly, though courte- 
ously answered all inquiries concerning the school, hours of 
classes, tuition fees, remunerative rates paid for designs for 
carpets, wall papers and decorative upholstering. Unrolling 
from a wooden cylinder a strip of thick paper, two yards 
long and twenty inches wide, she displayed an elaborate 
arabesque pattern done in sepia for a sgraiHto frieze, six- 
teenth century, which had been ordered by the architect of 
the new “Museum of Art”. 

“A bit of your favorite Florentine faqade,” said the 
Bishop, addressing his cousin, and peering closely at the 
scroll work. 

“In this corner of the world, one scarcely expects a glimpse 
of Andrea Feltrini,” answered Leo, avoiding the necessity 
of looking at Beryl, by glancing at Mr. Kendall. 

“What are your sources of information?” inquired Bishop 
Douglass. 

“We have a carefully selected collection of engravings, 
and a few good sketches and cartoons; moreover, some of 
our Sisterhood have been in Italy.” 

In attempting to roll the strip, it slipped from her fingers. 
Both women stooped to catch it, and their hands met. Look- 
ing into Leo’s eyes. Beryl whispered: “See me alone.” Then 
she rewound the paper, restored its oil silk cover, and shut 
the drawer. 

“Do you find that the demand for purely gruamental work 


484 AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 

renders this department self-sustaining?” asked Leighton 
Douglass. 

“I think the experience of the ‘Anchorage’ justifies that 
belief ; especially since the popularization of so-called 
‘Decorative Art’, which projects the useful into the realm 
of the beautiful; and by lending the grace of ornament to 
the strictly utilitarian, dims the old line of demarcation.” 

“We are particularly interested in acquiring accurate 
knowledge on this subject, because Miss Gordon hopes to 
establish a similar institution near her home in the South; 
where so many of our countrywomen, rendered destitute in 
consequence of the late war, need training which will en- 
able them to do faithful remunerative work, without com- 
promising their feminine refinement. While in Europe she 
inspected various industrial organizations ; saw Kaisers- 
werth, and the Training Schools for Nurses, even the Swed- 
ish *Ndas Slojd', and her visit here is solely to verify the 
flattering accounts she has received of the success of the 
eclectic system of the ‘Anchorage’. The South is so rich in 
fine materials that appear to offer a premium for carving, 
that we wish to investigate this branch of ‘decorative’ labor, 
and hope you can help us by some practical suggestions.” 

“Within the past twelve months, we have commenced the 
experiment of wood work; make all the utensils we need, 
and one of our patrons secured for us some models from 
the school you mentioned near Gothenburg. As yet, we 
have received only two orders; one for a base in walnut 
for a baptismal font; the other an oak triptych frame for 
a choir in a Minnesota church. The carving is a distinct 
branch, that does not belong to my department; but if you 
will knock at the arched door on the right hand side of the 
hall, Sister Katrina, who has charge of that work, will take 
pleasure in exhibiting the process. Mr. Kendall knows the 
‘Anchorage’ so well, he needs no guide to the work-rooms. 
Permit me to offer you some copies of our new prospectus, 
and also a photograph of this building, as a slight souvenir 
of your visit here.” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


485 


She fitted papers and picture into a square envelope 
stamped with an anchor in red ink, and handing it to Miss 
Gordon, walked to the door and opened it. On the threshold 
Leo turned, and looked intently into her face: 

“Are you sufficiently at leisure to allow me a little fur- 
ther conversation this afternoon ; or shall I call again ?” 

“I am entirely at your service, and shall gladly furnish 
any information you may desire. Our matron has placed 
my time at your disposal.” 

“Mr. Kendall, if you will kindly accompany the Bishop to 
the wood-carving room, I can remain here a little while, to 
ask Sister some questions, which would scarcely interest you 
gentlemen. I will join you there, very soon. Leighton, 
please get an estimate of the cost of the necessary outfit, 
and talk with Mr. Kendall concerning the feasibility of send- 
ing one of our women here for a year.” 

Closing the door. Beryl put out both hands, and took 
Leo’s. She stood a moment, holding them in a tight clasp. 

“Thank you, for considerately withholding a recognition 
that would have embarrassed me. I hoped that the habit of 
our Order would in some degree disguise me, yet, at a 
glance you knew me.” 

“Shall I infer that your history is unknown here?” 

“Sister Ruth, our Matron, is thoroughly acquainted with 
my past life, but she kindly respects my sorrows, and deems 
it unnecessary to publish the details among the Sisterhood. 
Do you know me so little, that you imagine I am capable 
of abusing the confidence of the head of an establishment 
which mercifully shelters an outcast?” 

She stepped back, and motioned her visitor to a seat near 
the balcony. 

“I should be very reluctant to ascribe any unworthy mo- 
tive to you; therefore I fail to understand why you desire 
to preserve your incognito, especially since the signal vindi- 
cation of your innocence. The news of the extraordinary 
discovery of the picture on the glass, and of your complete 
acquittal, even of suspicion, gave me so much pleasure that 


486 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


I should have ■written you my hearty congratulations, had I 
been able to obtain your address.” 

“I felt assured you ■would rejgice with me; and because 
I hold your good opinion so valuable, let me say that my 
happiness in the unexpected vindication of my character was 
enhanced by the proud consciousness that in your estimation 
I needed none. When the blackness of an intolerable shame 
overshadowed me, you groped your way to the dungeon, and 
held out your hands in confidence and sympathy. All the 
world suspected; you trusted me. You offered your noble 
name as bond, and made a place for me at your own sacred 
hearthstone. Do you think I can ever forget the blessedness 
of the balm that your faith in me poured into my crushed, 
despairing heart? Do you doubt that no sun sets, without 
seeing me on my knees, praying God’s blessing of perfect 
happiness for you? What would I not do — what would I 
not suffer — to secure your peace, and to prove my grati- 
tude ?” 

Her voice vibrated like the silver string of a deep violon- 
cello, and Leo, gazing up into the misty splendor of the 
beautiful sad eyes, ceased to wonder at the fascination which 
she had exerted over Mr. Dunbar. Unintentionally this 
woman’s face had marred her life; had unwittingly stolen 
her lover’s heart; yet she believed no treachery sullied the 
pure perfection of the soft red lips, and Leo’s generous na- 
ture rose above the narrow limits of ordinary feminine jeal- 
ousy. Had she doubted for an instant the theory that Beryl 
was heroically suffering the penalty of a crime, in order to 
screen her guilty lover, some suspicion of the truth might 
have dawned upon her. 

“Suppose I intend to put your gratitude to the test? You 
have exaggerated the debt which you acknowledge; are you 
prepared to cancel it? If I say to you, because I believed 
in you, trusted you, will you repay me now, by granting 
a favor which I shall ask?” 

“I think Miss Gordon could express no wish that I would 
not gladly execute, in order to promote her happiness.” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


487 


“Will you come back to X and help me to establish 

a home for women, who are destitute alike of money and 
of family ties ? When you preside over it I shall be haunted 
by no fears of failure. Once, I gave you my sympathy; 
now, when I need help, will you give me yours?” 

Beryl shivered, and looked wonderingly at her companion. 
Was she indeed so unsuspicious of the quicksand on which 
stood the fair temple of her hopes in marriage? 

“O, Miss Gordon ! That is the one thing, in all the world, 
that for your sake as well as mine, I could never do. No, 
no; impossible.” 

“Why, not for my sake, since I desire it so earnestly?” 

A bright flush had risen in Leo’s cheeks, and she threw 
back her small head challengingly. 

For a moment Beryl wavered. Could she bear to wound 
that proud spirit? 

“Go back to X ? To X ! It would be a renewal 

of my martyrdom, and I should only be a stumbling block in 
the scheme you contemplate. You do not understand, per- 
haps; but believe me, I prove my gratitude by refusing your 
kind offer.” 

“I think I understand; and if I am willing to run the risk, 
what then?” 

“Do not ask me the impossible. The very atmosphere of 

X would numb me, destroy all capability of usefulness, 

by reviving harrowing memories.” 

“Had not every shadow of suspicion vanished, and the 
entire community manifested delight in your triumphant 
innocence, I should never have suggested a return to the 
scene of your sufferings. Certainly, I cannot press the pay- 
ment of a debt, which you volunteered to cancel; but I am 
sorry your refuse to oblige me.” 

There was a starry sparkle in the soft hazel eyes, and an 
involuntary and unconscious hardening of her lips, as Leo 
rose. 

“It is hard. Miss Gordon, to be always misunderstood; 
but sometimes duty points to lines that subject us to harsh 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


and bitter censure. I bear ever a heavy burden; do not 
increase my load by condemning me as ungrateful. God 
knows, you hold a warm and a holy place in my heart, and 
your happiness is more to me than my own; yet the one 
thing you ask, my conscience forbids.” 

“How long have you been here?” 

“It will be two years to-morrow since I entered these 
peaceful walls.” 

“Then your probation ends, and you become permanently 
a Sister of the ‘Anchorage’?” 

“Not yet. I have been permitted to earn my daily bread 
here, upon conditions somewhat at variance with the regu- 
lations that usually govern the institution. I have not ap- 
plied for admission to permanent membership, because my 
stay is contingent upon circumstances, which may call me 
hence to-morrow ; which may never arise to beckon me away. 
Sister Ruth generously allows me the latitude of choice; 
not for my own sake, but for that of a friend, whose influ- 
ence secured my admission. After a while, when I have 
finished my work, I hope to come back; to spend the residue 
of my earthly days, and to die here, a faithful Umilta Sister 
of the ‘Anchorage’, which opened its arms when I was a 
needy and desolate waif.” 

“The peace of your new life is certainly reflected in your 
face. Patience has had its perfect work; and that ‘peace 
that passeth all understanding’ is the reward granted you.” 

Leo held out her hand, and Beryl took it between both 
hers. 

“Dear Miss Gordon, grapes yield no wine until they are 
crushed, trampled, bereft of bloom, of rounded symmetry, of 
beautiful color; but the Lord of the Vineyard is entitled to 
His own. I was a very proud, self-reliant girl, impatient 
of poverty, daringly ambitious; and what I deemed a cruel 
fate, threw me into the vat, to be trodden under foot. It 
may be, that when the ferment ends, and time mellows all, 
the purple wine of my bruised and broken life may be ac- 
counted worthy the seal of a sacramental sacrifice. I have 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


489 


ceased to question, to struggle, to plan. Like a blind child, 
fearing to stumble into ruin, I stand, and stretch out my 
hands to Him, who has led me safely through deep waters, 
along frightful gorges. Each day brings its work, which 
I strive worthily to accomplish ; but my aim is to lay my 
heart, mind, soul, my stubborn will, all in God’s hands. You 
think peace the summum bonum} Sometimes we obtain it 
by an ignominious surrender, when we should possess it by 
conquest. ‘Peace of mind is a beautiful and heavenly thing; 
but even peace of mind may become an idol; and there is 
perhaps no idol to which women bow down more passion- 
ately.’ For this reason, I am waiting for the drum beat 
of duty, and my march may begin at any moment. I asked 
to see you alone, in order to beg that you will increase my 
debt of obligations, by promising to reveal to no one the 
place of my retreat. Accident has betrayed to you that 
which I am anxious to keep secret; and I trust you will tell 
no one where you met me.” 

“Why should you hide, as though you were a culprit? 
You have been so completely exonerated from the imputa- 
tion of guilt which once hung over you, that you owe it to 
yourself to front the gaze of the world fearlessly. What 
have you to dread?” 

“The failure of something, which, though its accomplish- 
ment costs me very dear, I shall not relax my efforts to 
promote. I am trying to be loyal to my duty, even when 
the command is to strangle my own weak heart. You do 
not, cannot understand. God grant you never will. There 
are reasons why it is best for me to live in strict seclusion, 
for the present. Those reasons I can explain neither to you,, 
nor to any other human being; and yet, I ask you to respect 
them, and to keep my secret. You trusted me in the terrible 
exigencies of the past; and you must trust me now, for — 
oh ! God knows — I do indeed deserve your confidence.” 

She raised the hand folded in her own, and bowed her 
head upon it. 

“You have my promise. Without your permission, I will 


490 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


mention our meeting to no one. I trust you; and perhaps 
if you would trust me, I might render you some aid.” 

“The day may come, when I can find it compatible with 
duty to tell you the secret of my life. In future years, when 
you are a happy wife, I shall by God’s help be able to seek 
you and your husband, and thank you both for many kind- 
nesses. I pray that you may be as happy as you deserve.” 

There was no tremor in the voice that answered quickly. 

“If you refer to Mr. Dunbar, you have been led astray 

by the gossip in X . Once, there seemed a probability 

that our lives might be united; but long ago, we found that 
ardent friendship could not take the place of love ; and rather 
more than three years have passed since we have even seen 
each other.” 

With a startled movement Beryl dropped her companion’s 
fingers, and laid a hand on her shoulder. 

“Oh ! do not tell me that you have broken your engage- 
ment !” 

The two looked steadily at each other, and while Leo’s 
proud face gave no hint of pain or embarrassment. Beryl’s 
blanched, quivered. 

“How did you know that any engagement ever existed?” 

“All X knew it. Mrs. Singleton and Sister Serena 

told me.” 

“I dissolved that engagement before I went to Europe.” 

“Then you rashly wrecked your beautiful future. Why 
did you cast him off? He would have made you happy; he 
is worthy, I think, even of you.” 

“Yes, he is worthy, I believe, of any woman whom he 
may really love; but my happiness is not in his keeping, and 
my future holds, I trust, something much brighter than our 
marriage would have proved to me.” 

“You have thrown away the substance for the shadow. 
Before it is too late, reconsider your decision; give him an 
opportunity to reinstate himself in your affection. You have 
both been so kind to me, that I have hoped you would find 
life long happiness in each other.” 


AT THE MERCY- OF TIBERIUS 


491 


“Dismiss that delusion. His path and mine diverge more 
and more, and we no longer dwell in the same State. He 
has inherited a large amount of property in Louisiana, and 
now lives in New Orleans; hence you can readily perceive 
how far apart the currents of our lives have driftea. I 
rejoice in my freedom; and he, I suspect, is not inconsolable 
for my loss.” 

Through Beryl’s whirling brain darted the recollection of 
a rumor, that Leighton Douglass was suitor for his cousin’s 
hand; and that Miss Dent favored the alliance. Was the 
solution of Miss Gordon’s cold, calm indifference to be found 
in the presence and devotion of the Bishop? Could he have 
supplanted Mr. Dunbar in her affection? Had the world 
swung from its moorings? What meant the light that broke 
upon her, as if the walls of heaven had fallen, and let all 
the glory out? 

After a moment she said, solemnly: 

‘T pray God to overrule all earthly things, for your wel- 
fare, for your heart’s truest happiness; and for the realiza- 
tion of your dearest hopes. When my mission has been 
accomplished, and duty lifts her seal from my lips, I may try 
to see you once more, and explain the necessity that forced 
me to seek seclusion.” 

“I believe I understand; and I trust your reward will not 
be delayed. You and I can lean with confidence upon the 
wisdom and the mercy of the God we worship; but each 
must serve out His appointed time of bondage in the Egypt 
of suffering, in the famine of the desert; and must drink 
at Marah, before the blessing of the manna, the grapes of 
Eshcol, the roses of Sharon. If ever you should need an 
earthly friend, remember me; and if all other refuge fail 
you, my home can be always yours.” 

Hand in hand they walked to the door, and Leo pitied the 
future of this woman, whose lover was a wandering outlaw, 
with a price set upon his head ; and beneath her gray flannel 
habit. Beryl’s heart was torn with conflicting emotions, as 
she watched the placid, proud face, that showed no vestige 


492 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


of the storm of disappointment which had stranded her 
sweetest hope in life. 

“Good-bye, Beryl ; God keep you in His tender care.’’ 

“Good-bye, dear Miss Gordon. I will pray for your hap- 
pinf'ss, so long as I live.” 

She stooped, drew Leo’s hands to her face, pressed her 
trembling lips twice upon them; then turned quickly, and 
locked herself in the studio. 

Is it true, that “Orestes and Pylades have no sisters?” 


CHAPTER XXXHI. 

A PERSIAN proverb tells us: “A stone that is fit for the 
wall is not left in the way.” Strong artistic aspirations will 
plough through arid sands, leap across bottomless chasms, 
toil over bristling obstacles, climb bald, freezing crags to 
reach that shining plateau, where “beauty pitches her tents”, 
and the Ideal beckons. Favorable environment is the steam- 
ing atmosphere that fosters, forces and develops germs which 
might not survive the struggle against adverse influences, in 
uncongenial habitat; but nature moulds some types that at- 
tain perfection through perpetual elementary warfare which 
hardens the fibre, and strengthens the hold; as in those in- 
vincible algae towering in the stormy straits of Tierra del 
Fuego, swept from Antartic homes toward the equator, — 
defying the fierce flail of surf that pulverizes rock, “Breed 
is stronger than pasture; and no matter how savage a step- 
mother the circumstances of life may prove, the inherited 
psychological strain will sometimes dominate, and triumph. 
According to the Talmud: “A myrtle, even in a desert, re- 
mains a myrtle”. 

From her tenth year. Beryl had begun to build her castle 
in the Spain of Art; daubed its walls with wonderful fres- 
coes, filled its echoing corridors with heroic men and lovely 
women of the classic ages; and through its mullioned win- 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


493 

dows looked into an enchanted land, clothed with that witch- 
ing ‘Might that never was on sea or land”. When all else on 
earth was sombre and dun-hued, sunlight and moonlight still 
gilded those magical towers. In darkest nights, through 
hissing rain and hurtling hail, she caught the glitter of its 
starry vanes smiling through murkiness, and above the wail 
and sob of the storms that had swept over the waste places 
of her youth, she heard the divine melodies which the im- 
mortal harper, Hope, played always in the marvellous palace 
of the Muses. 

In early girlhood she had followed her father into the 
solemn mysteries of Greek Tragedy; and in that vast white 
temple dedicated to the inexorable Fates, where predestined 
victims moved like marble images to their immolation, her 
own plastic nature had been moulded in unison with the 
classic cult. Among the throng of Attic types, an immortal 
statue of filial devotion and sisterly love had attracted her 
irresistibly, and to Antigone she rendered the homage of 
a boundless admiration, an unwavering fealty. 

Intellectually, humanity cleaves to idolatry ; and each of us 
worships in the Pantheon, where our favorite divinities in 
literature crowd the niches. To become a skilful artist, and 
paint the portrait of Antigone, was the ambition that had 
shaped and colored Beryl’s young dreams, long ere she sus- 
pected that a mournful parallelism in fate would consign her 
to a living tomb more intolerable than that devised by 
Theban Creon. 

Our grandest pictures, statues, poems, are not the canvas, 
the marble, the bronze, and the gilded vellum, that the world 
handles, criticises, weighs, buys and sells, accepts with praise, 
or rejects with anathema. Invisible and inviolate, imagina- 
tion keeps our best, our ideals, locked in the cerebrum cells 
of “gray matter”, which we are pleased to call our work- 
shop. 

What art gallery, what library can rival the sublime and 
beautiful images that crowd the creased and folded labyrinth 
of the human brain; as far beyond the ken and analysis of 


494 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


the biologist’s microscope, as some remote nebulae shining in 
blue gulfs of interstellar space, that no telescopic lense can 
ever discover, even as a faint blur of silvery mist upon the 
black velvet vault that suns and planets spangle? 

In some degree. Beryl’s artistic dream had been realized; 
and the study of years slowly flowered into a large paint- 
ing, which represented Antigone standing beside the heap of 
dust, strewn reverently to sepulchre the form dimly outlined 
at her feet. The sullen red sunset of a tempestuous day 
flared from the horizon, across a desolate plain; showed 
the city walls in the background, the hungry vultures poised 
high above the dead, the marauding dogs crouched in the 
wind-swept sand, watching their banquet, decreed by the 
king. The dust had been scattered from a black vase that 
bore on its front, in a circular medallion, the lurid head of 
grinning Hecate; and the last rite to appease the unquiet 
manes was performed by the uplifted right arm that poured 
libations from a burnished brass urn, held aloft over the pall 
of earth that defined the figure beneath. The left hand was 
stretched, not heavenward, but shieldingly over the mound, 
and in the beautiful, stern face bent a little downward in 
invocation of the infernal gods, one read sublime self-sur- 
render, grief for CEdipus, regret for Haemon, farewell to life, 
— mingled with exultant consciousness that a successful 
sacrifice had been accomplished for Polynices, and that the 
spirit of the brother rested in peace. 

The soul of the artist seemed to look triumphantly through 
the solemn, purplish blue eyes of the young martyr, and 
Beryl knew that her own heart beat under the painted folds 
of the diploidion; that she had epitomized in a symbolic 
picture, the history of her own joyless youth. 

The canvas had been framed and hung at the art exhibi- 
tion of the new “Museum”, opened in September; and only 
the “U” traced in one corner beneath an anchor, indicated 
that it was the work of the Umilta Sisters’ “Anchorage”. 

The public peered, puzzled, shook its sapient head, 
shrugged its authoritative shoulders, and sundry criticisms 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


495 


crept into the journals; but the prophet was judged in “his 
own country” ; and home work, according to universal 
canons, rarely finds favor among home awarding committees, 
whose dulness its uncomprehended excellence affronts. 

One censured vehemently the masonry of the city wall; 
another deplored pathetically the “defective foreshortening 
of a dog’s shoulders”; the picture “lacked depth of tone”; 
the “coloring was too hizarre'\ the “tints too neutral”. 

Like chemicals tested in a laboratory, or like Pharaoh’s 
lean kine, each objection devoured the , preceding one; and 
unanimity of blame assaulted only one salient point on the 
entire canvas : the red sandals of the Greek girl — upon which 
outraged good taste fell with pitiless fury. 

Undismayed, Beryl withdrew her picture, erased the 
ciphers in the corner, and shipped it to New York to Doctor 
Grantlin, who had recently returned from Europe; request- 
ing him to place it at a picture dealer’s on Broadway, and 
to withhold the name of its birth-place. 

Two weeks later, a popular journal published an elaborate 
description of “A painting supposed to have been obtained 
abroad by a New York collector, who merited congratulation 
upon possession of a masterpiece, which recalled the mar- 
vellous technique of Gerome, the atmosphere of Jules Breton, 
the rich, mellow coloring, and especially the scrupulous 
fidelity of archaic detail, which characterized Alma Tadema; 
and was conspicuously manifest in the red shoes so dis- 
tinctively typical of Theban women”. 

Mr. Kendall caused this article to be copied into the lead- 
ing newspaper of his own city; and the first mail, thereafter, 
carried to New York an offer of eight hundred dollars for 
the painting, from the President of the “Museum” Di- 
rectors, who had been so shocked by the unknown signifi- 
cance of the “red shoes”. After a few days, it was gen- 
erally known, but mentioned with bated breath, that the 
“Antigone” had been bought by a wealthy Philadelphian, 
who paid for it two thousand dollars, and hung it in his 


496 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


gallery, where Fortunys, Madrazos, and Diazs ornamented 
the walls. 

Vvhy should journeying abroad to render “Caesar’s things” 
to foreign Caesars, demand such total bankruptcy that we 
must needs repudiate the just debts of home creditors, whose 
chimneys smoke just beyond the fence that divides us? De 
mortuis nil nisi bonum is a traditional and sacred duty to 
departed workers; but does it exhaust human charity, or re- 
quire contemptuous crusade against equally honest, living 
toilers? Are antiquity and foreign birthplace imperatively 
essential factors in the award of praise for even faithful 
and noble work? We lament the caustic moroseness of em- 
bittered Schopenhauer, brooding savagely over his failure 
to secure contemporaneous recognition; yet after all, did he 
malign his race, or his age, when, in answer to the inquiry 
where he desired to be buried, he scornfully exclaimed: “No 
matter where; posterity will find me.” 

It was on the 26th of October, a week subsequent to the 
receipt of the letter which contained the check sent in pay- 
ment for the picture, that Beryl sat down on the stone sill 
of her oriel window, to rest in the seclusion of her room, 
after the labors of the day. 

It was the anniversary of her ill-starred visit to X , 

and melancholy memories had greeted her at dawn, clung to 
her skirts, chanted their dismal refrain, and renewed the 
pain which time had in some degree dulled. Four years 
ago she had felt her mother’s feverish lips on hers, in a 
parting kiss, and four years ago to-day the sun of her 
girlhood had passed suddenly into total eclipse. Since then, 
moving in a semi-twilight, suffering had prematurely aged 
her, and she had schooled herself to expect no star, save 
that of duty, to burn along her lonely path. To-day, she 
thought of the pride her picture would have aroused in her 
devoted father; of the comforts the money would have pur- 
chased for her invalid mother; of the pleasure, success as 
an artist would have brought to her own ambitious soul. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


497 


if only it had not come so many years too late. What 
crown could fame bring to one, dwelling always in the chill 
shadow of a terrible shame? The glory of noble renown 
could never gild a name that had answered at the convicts’ 
roll call ; a name which, at any moment, Bertie’s arrest 
might drag back to the disgrace of established felony. 

Of all mocking fiends, the arch torturer is that hand which 
draws aside the black curtain of grim actuality, and shows 
us the wonderful realm of “might have been”, where lost 
hopes blossom eternally, and the witchery of hallowed il- 
lusions is never dispelled. 

Wearily Beryl closed her eyes, as though the white lids 
availed to shut out visions, tantalizing as the dream of bub- 
bling springs, and palm-fringed isles of dewy verdure, to 
the delirious traveller dying of thirst, in the furnace blasts 
of mid-desert. 

If she had defied her mother’s wishes, and refused to go 

to X ? How different the world would seem to her; 

but, what was a world worth, that had never known Mr. 
Dunbar ? 

Over burning ploughshares she had walked to meet one 
destined to stir to its depths the slumbering sea of her ten- 
derest love; and to forego the pain, would she relinquish 
the recompense? 

During the months that elapsed after Leo’s visit to the 
“Anchorage”, Beryl had surrendered her heart to the great 
happiness of dwelling, unrebuked by conscience, upon the 
precious assurance that the love of the man whom she had 
so persistently defied and shunned, was irrevocably hers. 
The sharpest pain that can borrow womanhood, springs from 
the contemplation of the superior right of another to the 
object of her affection; and though honor coerces submis- 
sion to the just claims of a rival, renunciation of the be- 
loved entails pangs that no anaesthetic has power to quiet. 

After the long struggle to aid Miss Gordon’s accepted 
lover in keeping his vows of loyalty, the discovery of his 
freedom, and the belief that Bishop Douglass had supplanted 


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him in the affection of her generous benefactress, had 
brought to Beryl an exquisite release; sweet as the spicy 
breath of the tropics wafted suddenly to some stranded, 
frozen Arctic voyager. Heroic and patient, keeping her 
numb face steadfastly turned to the pole star of duty, where 
the compass of conscience pointed — was the floe ice on which 
she had been wrecked, drifting slowly, imperceptibly, yet 
surely down to the purple warmth of the Gulf Stream, dotted 
with swelling sails of rescue? Like oceanic streams meet- 
ing, running side by side, freighted with cold for the equa- 
torial caldrons, with heat for the poles, are not the divinely 
appointed currents of mercy and of affliction, God’s agents of 
compensation, to equalize the destinies of humanity? 

We rail at Fate as triple monsters; but sometimes it hap- 
pens, that the veil of inscrutability floats aside, for an in- 
stant, and we catch a glimpse of the radiant smile of an 
infinite love. 

Hope had set in Beryl’s sky, but a tender afterglow held 
off the coming night, when she thought of the face that had 
bent so yearningly above her, of the passionate voice and 
the thrilling touch that were now her most precious memo- 
ries. The pearl which Miss Gordon had cast away as worth- 
less, the discarded convict might surely, without sin, claim 
as her own for ever. To-day an intense longing to see him 
once more, to hear from his lips praise of her “Antigone”, 
disturbed the tranquillity that was spreading its robes of 
minever over a stony path; but she put aside the tempta- 
tion. 

To the Sisterhood of the “Anchorage” she had given one- 
half the proceeds of the picture sale; and the remainder 
would enable her at last to renew the search for her un- 
happy brother. So vague were the topographical lines fur- 
nished by the English tourist, that prosecuting her quest 
in the remote wilderness of mountains, which wore their 
crown of snow, seemed a reckless waste of hope, time and 
money; nevertheless, she must make the attempt. She knew 
that a gigantic railway system was crawling like an ana- 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


499 


conda under rocky ranges, over foaming rivers, stretching its 
sinuous steel trail from Bay of Chaleur to Georgia Gulf; 
with termini that saw the sun rise from the Atlantic Ocean, 
and watched its setting in the red glory of the far Pacific; 
and perhaps steam shovels, and iron tight-ropes might fur- 
nish her facilities on her long journey. 

Winter would soon overtake her, and in the inhospitable 
region where her brother had been surprised at his prayers, 
how could a lonely woman travel without protection ? Doubt, 
apprehension flitted as ill-boding birds of night, flapping 
dusky wings to hide the signal beacon, which love and duty 
swung to and fro; yet the yearning to see her brother’s face 
again, dwarfed all barriers, and she trusted God’s guidance. 

On a chair near her, lay, on this afternoon, a map which 
for many days she had been studying; and opening it once 
more, she ran a finger along the dotted lines, mentally de- 
bating whether it would be best to go by rail to Ottawa, by 
water to Sault St. Marie, whence the new railway could 
be easily reached, or whether the most direct route would 
be via St. Paul to Winnepeg. When she left the “Anchor- 
age”, her destination must rejnain a secret; hence she could 
ask no counsel. In view of approaching cold weather, econ- 
omy of time seemed imperative; and she resolved to buy 
a railway ticket to Fargo, where she could elude suspicion, 
should the threatened invisible detective “shadow” her; and 
whence another Pacific highway offered egress to western 
wilds. With this definite conclusion she closed the map, 
and a moment later, some one knocked at her door. 

“Come in.” 

She went forward, and met Sister Katrina, a robust dame 
of forty years, blond as Gerda; with the “light of the glow- 
worm’s tails” in her golden-lashed violet eyes, and the “ruby 
spots of the cowslip’s leaves” on her full, frank lips. 

“Will you sit a while with me ? There is still a half hour, 
before your evening work begins in the carving shop. Come 
in.” 

“I am sorry I have not time now, to indulge myself in 


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such luxury as a chat with you always proves. I came to 
beg the loan of your India ink copy of the marble screens 
at Agra ; which I have an idea would be very effective done 
in cherry, for the panels under the new bookcases we are 
designing for the library.” 

“The copy is up stairs in the studio; but I shall be glad 
to get it for you.” 

“No; with your permission I can help myself, and I am 
going up there now, for some red chalk. I know exactly 
where to find the picture, because I was examining it two 
days ago. What think you of my idea?” 

“I am afraid you will find cherry too dark. A lighter 
wood, I think, would be better adapted to the exceeding 
delicacy of the design.” 

“Wait till I cut out a sample scroll, and we will talk it 
over. Sister Ruth asked me to hand to you this paper, which 
contains a very complimentary notice of your lovely picture. 
I read it as I came up, and congratulate you on all the fine 
things said. You scarcely know how proud we feel of our 
Sister’s work. Thanks for the use of the drawing.” 

She smiled, nodded and closed the door; and when her 
bright cheery countenance vanished, it seemed as though a 
film of cloud had drifted across the sun. 

Beryl went back to a low chair in front of the window, 
and opened the paper, which chanced to be the New York 
“Herald.” Unfolding it to hunt the designated article, her 
glance fell accidentally upon the personal column. Her 
heart leaped, then almost ceased beating, as she read : 

“Important. Bertie will meet Gigina in the Museum at 
Niagara Falls, Canada side, any day during the last week in 
October.” 

Two years and a half had almost gone by since she in- 
serted the advertisement, to which this was evidently a 
reply. Long ago she had ceased to expect any tidings 
through this channel ; but the seed sown in faith, watered 
by tears, and guarded by continual prayer had stirred to 
life; blossomed in the sunshine of God’s pitying smile, and 


after weary waiting, the ripe fruit fell at her feet. How 
fair and smooth, rosy and fragrant it appeared to her 
famishing heart ? How opportune the guiding hand that 
pointed her way, when cross roads baffled her. Two days 
later, she would have been journeying away from the coveted 
goal. Now the tide of battle was turning. Had the stars 
rolled back on their courses to rescue Sisera? 

How long the happy woman sat there, exulting in the mel- 
lowness of the perfect fruit of patience, she never knev/. 

Day died slowly; the vivid crimson and dazzling gold that 
fired the West were reflected in the tranquil bosom of the 
lake, faded into the tender pale rose of the sacred lotus, 
into the exquisite tints that gild the outer petals of a daf- 
fodil, the heart of buttercups; and then, robed in faintest 
violet powdered with silvery dust, the vast pinions of 
Crepuscule spread over sky and water, fanning into full 
flame the glittering sparks of planets and constellations that 
lighted the chariot course of the coming moon. 

Across the sleeping lake hurried a north wind, on its long 
journey to blow open the snowy camellias folded close in 
the heart of the South, and under his winged sandals the 
waters crimped, rippled, swelled into wavelets that played 
their minor adagio in nature’s nocturn, as their foam fingers 
fell on the pebbles that fringed the beach. From the deck 
of a schooner anchored off shore, floated the deep voice of 
a man singing Schubert’s ‘'Ave Maria”', and far, far away 
over the weird waste of waters, where a buoy marked a 
sunken wreck, its red beacon burned Like the eye of Polyphe- 
mus, crouching in darkness, watching to surprise Galatea. 

The penetrating chill of the night air aroused Beryl from 
her profound trance; and lighting the gas over her dressing 
table, she re-read the magical words that had transformed 
her narrow world. This was Monday the 26th, and next 
Saturday was the limit of the proposed interview. One day 
must suffice for necessary preparation, and starting by early 
morning express on Vv^ednesday, she would arrive in time 
to keep the tryst that involved so much. She cut out the 


502 


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notice that was merely a sentence in the page of social 
hieroglyphics, where no key fitted more than one para- 
graph, and forgetting the criticism on her picture, she went 
swiftly down stairs. 

The members of the Sisterhood were at supper, and she 
waited at the refectory door for an opportunity to meet the 
matron. 

On the platform raised in the centre of the long room, sat 
the reader for the day. Sister Agatha; a plump, florid young 
woman, with bright black eyes, and a voice sweet and strong 
as the flute stop of an organ. The selection that evening 
had been from “Agate Windows” and “Ice Morsels”, and the 
closing words were : 

“Alpine flowers are warmed by snow; the summer beauty 
of our hills, and the autumn fertility of our valleys, have 
been caused by the cold embrace of the glacier; and so, by 
the chill of trial and sorrow, are the outlines of Christian 
character moulded and beautified. And we, who recognize 
the loving kindness as well as the power of God in what may 
seem the harsher and more forbidding agencies of nature, 
ought not to be weary and faint in our minds, if over our 
own warm human life, the same kind pitying Hand should 
sometimes cause His snow of disappointment to fall like 
wool, and cast forth His ice of adversity like morsels; know- 
ing that even by these unlikely means, shall ultimately be 
given to us also, as to nature, the beauty of Sharon, and the 
peace of Carmel !” 

Somewhere in the apartment, a bell tapped. All rose, 
and each head in the gray ranks bowed, while “thanks” were 
offered; then amid a subdued murmur of conversation, the 
Sisterhood filed out, gathered in groups, separated for vari- 
ous duties. 

“Sister Ruth, may I see you alone ?” asked Beryl, touching 
her arm in the hall. 

“Tlfls vs the night for the examination of accounts, of 
last week's expenses, and I shall be busy with Sister Elena, 
our book-keeper ; moreover, I promised to look over the linen 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


503 


closet of the Infirmary, with Sister Consuelo, whose demands 
are like those of the daughter of the horse-leech. Is your 
business urgent?” 

“Yes; but I will not detain you more than ten minutes.” 

“Very well, come to my cabinet.” 

The place designated was a pigeon box in size, and ad- 
joined the reception room on the first floor. Two desks 
packed with papers, three chairs and a picture of Elijah and 
the ravens, constituted the furniture. The matron bright- 
ened the light, seated herself and looked at her companion. 

“Well. What can I do for you? Why, Sister? Some- 
thing has happened; your face is all aglow, your eyes are 
great stars.” 

“Yes; a heavy burden I have long borne is slipping from 
my heart, and after the pressure it rebounds. I have told 
you that my stay here was contingent on events which I 
could not control; that at any moment I might consider it 
incumbent upon me to go away into the world; therefore, 
I could bind myself by no compact to remain permanently 
in the ‘Anchorage’. The time has come; the drum taps, I 
must march away.” 

“And you are so glad to leave us?” said the matron, gaz- 
ing in wonder at the radiant face, usually so impassive and 
cold with its locked lips, and grave, sad, downcast eyes. 

“No, glad only in the occasion that calls me; regretting 
that duty separates me temporarily from the Sisterhood, who 
so mercifully opened their arms, when I had no spot in all 
the wide world where I could lay my head, but the sod on 
my mother’s grave. This blessed haven is for those whose 
first duty in life summons them nowhere beyond its walls. 
If conscience bade you leave these peaceful and hallowed 
halls, for work far more difficult, would you hesitate to obey ? 
It is safer and less arduous to keep step with the main army ; 
but some must perish on picket duty, and is the choice ours, 
when an order details us ?” 

“Who signed your order?” 


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Sister Ruth took off her spectacles, and bent closer, with 
a keenness of scrutiny, that was unflatteringly suspicious. 

“My dear mother.” 

“I understood that you had been an orphan for years?” 

“Yes, for four wretched, lonely and terrible years; but 
no tomb is deep enough to shut in the voice that uttered our 
mother’s last wishes; and all time cannot hush the sound of 
the command, cannot hide the beloved hand that pointed to 
the path she asked us to follow. When my mother kissed 
me good-bye, she blessed me, because of a promise I gave 
her; and Heaven means to me the place where I can look 
into her sainted face, and tell her ‘Hold me close to your 
tender heart, for oh ! I have indeed kept my word. Your 
little girl obeyed your last command.’ ” Her voice trembled, 
and she passed one hand over her eyes for an instant. 

“Sister Ruth, the opportunity has arrived, and I go to 
execute the last clause of a sacred order. When I shall have 
finished my mission, I shall want to come back home. Oh ! 
you see? I call it home. For where else can I ever have 
a home, till I join my father and mother? If I should 
come back and ask you to take me for the remainder of my 
life, as a sister worker, will you let me die with the ‘anchor’ 
on my breast? I shall be as worthy of your confidence then, 
as I am now.” 

“Where are you going?” 

“I hoped that you would not ask me, because I cannot 
tell you now. Will you not trust me?” 

“Your extremely cautious reticence makes it difficult; and 
I have always known that some distressing mystery brought 
you here.” 

“Confidence that defies suspicious appearances is precious 
indeed; but confidence that crumbles like Jericho’s walls at 
the blast of Joshua’s trumpets, is as worthless a sham as a 
cable whose strands part at the first taut strain. Sister 
Ruth, there are reasons why I go away alone, to an un- 
known destination; and I am about to tax your trust yet 
more severely, when I tell you that I need the disguise of 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


505 

the ‘Umilta’ uniform. I ask your permission to wear it dur- 
ing my absence.” 

The matron shook her head. 

“Surely, Sister Ruth, you cannot think it possible that 
I should bring discredit upon this dear gray flannel, which 
I hold as sacred as priestly vestments?” 

She laid her cheek against her own shoulder, with a 
caressing motion, and passed her fingers softly across her 
sleeve. 

“My young sister, to some extent I am responsible for 
those who wear the ‘Umilta’ gray. If I allowed you to carry 
our badge under such peculiar circumstances beyond the 
limits of my supervision, I should hazard too much; should 
deserve the severity of the censure I most certainly should 
receive, if any disaster brought reproach upon our spotless 
record as an institution. It was not designed as a disguise 
in which to masquerade for unknown purposes.” 

Beryl put up both hands, pressing her pretty white cap 
close to her ears; and her lips trembled, as was their wont, 
when she was wounded. 

“Do not discrown me. My father’s Beryl will never sully 
your pure record; and it would be as impossible for me to 
disgrace your uniform, as defile my mother’s shroud. Grant 
me the protection of this consecrated garb.” 

“No. The ‘Anchorage’ must remain as heretofore, like 
Caesar’s wife.” 

“Although I have lived here so long, how little you know 
me. 

“Very true, my Sister; therefore, as custodian of the in- 
terests of our little community, I must not put them in 
jeopardy. When do you expect to take your departure?” 

“Wednesday, at 6 a.m., on the express for New York.” 

“Have you received letters?” 

“No, Sister. Doctor Grantlin is the only person who 
writes to me, and as his letters are always addressed to your 
care, I receive them from your hands.” 

“How long do you propose to stay in New York?” 


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AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


“I am not going to New York, and I know not how long 
I may be detained; but I desire to return without needless 
delay.” 

“Then you want your money.” 

“Give me to-morrow five hundred dollars, and keep the 
remainder until I come, or until you hear from me. Please 
say that I have gone on a journey to fulfil a pledge made 
years ago; and try not to show the Sisters that you have no 
confidence in me. That — would rob my home-coming of half 
its pleasure. If any unforeseen accident should keep me 
away, should cut short a life which has overflowed with 
great sorrow, then retain the money and the pictures I leave 
behind; and believe that I died, as I have lived, not unwor- 
thy of all thy kindness and true charity this dear sacred 
‘Anchorage’ has shown to me. Sister Elena is impatient; I 
hear her walking up and down the floor. While I am absent. 
Sister Katrina, and especially Sister Anice, can take my 
place in the Art School ; and all my orders were finished last 
week, except the mirror for Mrs. St. Clair. She wished it 
framed in scarlet bignonias, and as the painting is more than 
half done. Sister Anice can easily complete it. I will not 
detain you longer. Good-night, Sister Ruth.” 

No sleep visited Beryl, and as she lay at two o’clock, 
watching the shimmer of the moonlight reflected from the 
tossing waves upon the panes of her wide window, where 
the tangled mesh of quivering rays coiled, uncoiled, glided 
hither and yon like golden serpents, she heard the click of 
the key, and the turning of the knob in a door, which opened 
from the alcove into an adjoining room. That apartment 
was reserved as a guest chamber; had been unoccupied for 
months; and puzzled by the sound. Beryl sat up in her bed 
and listened. The blue folds of the drapery hanging over 
the alcove arch, were drawn aside, and Sister Ruth, wrapped 
in a trailing dressing-gown, held up a small lamp jxid peered 
cautiously around. 

“What is the matter. Sister?” 

“Did I frighten you? I came this way rather than knock 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


507 


at the other door, becawse Sister Frances is on watch to- 
night; and though she is a dear good soul, she is afflicted 
with an undue share of the feminine frailty, curiosity, and 
I prefer that no one should canvass my unseasonable visit 
to you. Do not get up.” 

She put the brass lamp on a chair, and sat down on the 
edge of the bed. 

“Our conversation has disquieted me, and I cannot sleep. 
Long ago, for my own sake, I made a rule by which to 
govern my judgment of my fellow beings; and it amounts 
to this: where I cannot be sure of evil in others, I give 
them the benefit of the doubt, and sincerely endeavor to 
think the best. I have watched you very closely. There is 
much that I cannot understand; much that it appears strange 
you should hesitate to explain; yet in these years I have 
had no cause to question your truthfulness, and that is the 
basis of all human worth. We profess to live here as one 
family, as sisters, holding each other in love, charity and 
trust; yet in searching myself to-night, I fear I have gone 
astray. I have pondered and prayed over this matter, and 
my heart yearns toward you. I feel as I fancy a mother 
might, who had too hastily slapped the face of her child; 
and, my sister, I have come to say, forgive me, if I too 
harshly refused your request, if I wounded you.” 

She held out her hand, but Beryl did not see it; she had 
covered her face, and unable to speak she leaned forward 
and laid her head on the matron’s lap. Gently the thin fin- 
gers stroked the shining hair, until they were drawn down 
and pressed to the girl’s lips. 

“Again, I asked myself, whether my decision had not been 
inspired by an overweening pride in the public estimation of 
our home ; rather than by an unselfish regard for the welfare 
and peace of mind of one of its members? What will the 
world think of us, must be subordinated to, what is the best 
h\r my young sister, whose cross it is my duty to lighten? 
T cannot bear to give you up; and I shall, I will trust you. 
Wear the 'gray’ armor, and remember, if any blot stain it. 


5o8 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


you will bring disgrace upon a holy cause; you will be the 
first to stain the Umilta uniform; and I shall be blamed, for 
reposing confidence in one who betrayed us to public scorn. 
My Sister Beryl, I give you ‘the gray’. God grant it may 
shelter you from harm, and bring you home to fill my place 
with honor, when I have passed into the eternal Anchorage.” 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

Over the region of the great lakes, her favorite haunt, 
hung the enchanted stillness, the misty glamour of the pur- 
ple-cloaked witch — Indian Summer; whose sorcery veiled the 
dazzling face of the sun, and changed the silver lustre of 
Selene into the vast, solemn red blot that stared wonderingly 
at its own weird image in the glassy waters. 

Wrapped in that soft, sweet haze, which like the eider 
down of charity smooths all roughness, rounds all angles, 
the world of shore and lake presented a magical panorama 
of towns and villages, herds of cattle, flocks of sheep, spires 
of churches, masts of vessels, — all flashing past the open 
window of the car, where Beryl sat, watching the shadows 
lengthen as the long train thundered eastward, and the tree 
dials marked the hour record on the golden brown stubble 
fields. 

When the goal is in sight, do we dwell on the hazard, the 
strained muscles, the blistered feet, and the fierce thirst the 
long race-course cost us? Who know that they are weary 
and spent, while the prize brightens, nears as they stretch 
panting to grasp it? 

The certainty of meeting her brother, the anticipation of 
all that she felt assured he would promise concerning his 
future, when he learned the severity of the ordeal which she 
had endured in his behalf, blotted out the costliness of the 
accomplishment. Like that glorious violet haze of Indian 
Summer, which was drawing its opalescent drapery along 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


509 


the vanishing iron railway track blackened with cinders, and 
softly shrouding the grim outlines of wreck, that told where 
a vessel had foundered on the lake in the early autumn gale, 
an overruling Providence seemed shedding peace even upon 
her troubled past. In the swift flash of the divine fire that 
sanctified the accepted sacrifice, she was too dazzled to re- 
member the moan of the slaughtered victim, the agony of 
the death struggle; and now, her thoughts spanned the gulf 
of time, and painted the eternal reunion of the broken and 
dishonored family group. 

From these comforting reflections she was aroused by 
a piercing cry that made her spring forward, and scan the 
crowd of human faces collected close to the rails, at a small 
town where the cars had halted. 

On a side track in front of her window, was a train which 
had just dashed in from Buffalo, and amid the surging mass 
of jeering spectators, two officers stepped down from the 
platform, each with a hand on the arm of a man, who was 
heavily handcuffed. At the sight, a white-haired, withered 
woman leaning from a carriage and staring with horror- 
haunted eyes, had screamed, and was falling back insensible. 

“That is his mother. Poor thing, why did they let her 
come ? He is her only boy,” said a man to his comrade, who 
stood near Beryl’s seat. 

“What is the matter?” asked a gentleman, sitting imme- 
diately in front of her. 

“Two of our officers winged a bird, who thought it was 
safe flying over yonder, with the lake between him and the 
county jail. Canada is handy hunting-ground, when the 
game happens to be runaway thieves; and we have bagged 
one. He was the cashier of our Savings Bank, and not satis- 
fied with tampering with the books, and forcing balances, he 
finally robbed the vault of a lot of gold, and flew across the 
line. His wife met him at St. Catherine’s, and he met the 
iron bracelets he was dodging.” 

The train moved on, and once more Beryl heard the howl- 
ing of the wolves, that she had hoped were left forever 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


510 

behind ; that now seemed in full cry bearing down upon their 
prey. Should she return to the “Anchorage”, and advertise 
Bertie’s danger? So vague were her ideas relative to the 
limits of extradition, that she had regarded Canada as a city 
of refuge; considered its protection of United States’ crim- 
inal fugitives as efficacious, as meeting a Vestal Priestess on 
the way to his execution, proved in rescuing a Roman male- 
factor from the penalty of violated law; but this shred of 
comfort had parted, when most she required its aid. 

“Yes, I understand extradition provisions have been ar- 
ranged, which are bound to have a wholesome effect; espe- 
cially in this section, where it is so easy to slip across the 
lakes any dark night. I am told nearly all felonies will be 
embraced now — from murder to burglary — and that Her 
Majesty’s Secretaries are more willing to aid our officers, 
than was the case a few years ago, when no end of quibbling 
tied up justice.” 

The gentlemen on the seat in front of her, moved away 
to the smoking car ; and the woman in gray listened to the 
creak and whirr of the wheel of torturing dread, upon which 
some malignant fate once more bound her. Bertie had been 
safe in his mountain fastness, until her ill-starred adver- 
tisement coaxed him within reach of the police Briareus. 
Could she discern the hand of merciful warning in this for- 
tuitous meeting with a captured culprit; which so vividly 

recalled the maddening incidents of her return to X , 

when the sheriff had hurried her from the car ? A sickening 
terror seized her, and along the expanse of pearly mist that 
united earth and sky, in the snowy fringe of ripples break- 
ing their teeth on the shelving beach, she seemed to read the 
doom of her stratagem written in words of menace : 

“Go where you may, but I give you fair warning you can- 
not escape me; and the day on which you meet that guilty 
vagabond, you betray him to the scouts of justice.” 

Far away, among the orange groves of Louisiana, would 
he forget his threat, or fail to execute it ? On and on darted 
the train; people laughed and talked; a tired baby swayed 


AT THE MBRCY OF TIBERIUS 


511 

from side to side on the nurse’s knees, crooned herself to 
sleep; and a canary in a cage covered with pink net, broke 
suddenly into a spasm of trills and roulades. 

It was almost four o’clock when the dull roar of Niagara 
set the air a tremble, and the few remaining passengers left 
the train. The little town was unusually quiet and deserted, 
the tide of summer travel having ebbed; and not until the 
crystal fingers of the ice fairy had built her wonderful Gi- 
ralda out of foam and spray, would that of Winter tourists 
begin to flow. 

Leaving her trunk at the ^‘baggage room” of the station, 
Beryl engaged a carriage driver to take her to the Suspen- 
sion Bridge. Drawing her gray bonnet and veil as far as 
possible over her face, she paid the toll, and noticed that 
the keeper peered curiously at her, and muttered something 
in an undertone to a man wearing a uniform, who turned 
and stared at her. 

She hurried away along that iron mesh swinging high in 
air like a vast spider web, spun from shore to shore across 
the swirling, snarling caldron of hissing waters. Was the 
officer the wary spider watching her movements, waiting to 
slip down the metal snare, and devour her hopes ? Her heart 
beats sounded as the heavy thuds of a drum; the rush of 
dire forebodings drowned even the roar of the Falls, and 
the magnificence of the spectacle vanished before the awful 
realization of the danger to which she had invited Bertie. 

The bridge was deserted; no human being was visible; 
and now and then she glanced back over her shoulder, dread- 
ing she knew not what form of pursuit. At last her flying 
feet touched British soil, but she knew now, that neither 
Bezer nor yet Shechem lay before her ; and no sign-post rose 
to welcome her, with the “Refuge — Refuge” — the water and 
the bread appointed of old, for spent fugitives. Canada was 
an ambush that, despite all caution, might betray her. 
Against the last rail of the bridge she leaned, tried to steady 
her nerves ; and put up one passionate prayer : 

“Turn not Thy face from me, O my God! in this last 


512 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


hour! Guide me aright. Overrule all my mistakes, and 
save my repentant brother.” 

On the wide gallery of the “Clifton House” stood a gar- 
dener engaged in removing the flower baskets that hung 
between the columns; and as he paused in his work, to 
observe the quaint gray figure below, she asked, in a voice 
that was strained beyond its customary sweetness: 

“Please direct me to the Museum.” 

“Follow the street along the cliff, and you can’t miss it. 
Behind those trees yonder, on the right hand side. To the 
best of my belief, it is shut up this week.” 

Turning south, she walked more leisurely, lest undue haste 
should excite suspicion; and all the solemn sublimity of the 
scene confronted her. The green crescent of the Horseshoe 
blanched to foam, as it leaped to the stony gulf below, the 
wreaths of mist floating up, gilded by the sunshine ; the mad- 
dened rush of the tossing, frothing, whirling rapids seething 
like melted gold as the western radiance smote the bubbling 
surface; the scarlet flakes of foliage clinging to the trees 
on Goat Island, and far above, on the wooded height beyond, 
the picturesque outlines of the Convent, lifting its belfry 
against the azure sky. As doomed swimmers lost in those 
rapids, swept head downward to destruction, nearing the last 
wild plunge catch the glimmer of that consecrated tower 
held aloft, so to Beryl’s eyes it now seemed a symbol of com- 
fort; and faith once more girded her. 

A woman wearing a blue plaid handkerchief tied over her 
head and knotted under her chin, and carrying a basket of 
red apples on one arm, while with the other she led a lowing 
cow along the dusty road, paused at a signal, in front of the 
gray clad stranger. 

“Which is the Museum?” 

“Yonder, where the goats are huddled.” 

The building was closed, but in those days a garden lay 
to the north of it; and a small gate that gave admittance to 
seats and flowers connected with the museum, now stood 
open. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


513 

The walks were strewn with pale yellow poplar leaves, and 
bordered with belated pink hollyhocks, and crimson chrysan- 
themums blighted by frost, shivering in their death chili; 
and from a neighboring willow stripped of curtaining foliage, 
a lonely bird piped its plaintive threnody, for the loss of one 
summer’s mate. At the extremity of the little garden, under- 
shelter of an ancient, gnarled tree, that screened a semi- 
circular seat from the observation of those passing on the 
street. Beryl sat down to rest; to collect her thoughts. 

In the solitude, she threw back her veil, leaned her head 
against the trunk of the tree where wan lichens made a 
pearly cushion, and shut her eyes. The afternoon was wear- 
ing away; a keen wind shook the bare boughs; only the 
ceaseless, unchanging chant of waters rose from the vast 
throat of nature, invoking its God. 

She heard no footsteps; but some strange current attacked 
her veins, thrilled along her nerves, strung as taut as the 
wires of a harp, and starting up she became aware that a 
man was standing on the clover sward close to her. A dark 
brown overcoat, a broad brimmed, soft wool hat, drawn as 
a mask down to the bridge of the nose, and a bare hand 
covering the mouth, was all she saw. 

Stretching out her arms, she sprang to meet him: 

“O Bertie ! At last ! At last !” 

The figure drew back slightly, lifted his hat; and where 
she had expected to see her brother’s golden curls, the crisp, 
black locks of Mr. Dunbar met her gaze. 

“You! Here?” 

She staggered, and sank back on the bench; the realiza- 
tion of Bertie’s peril throttling the joy that leaped up in her 
heart, at sight of the beloved features. 

“I am here. I come as promptly to fulfil my promise as 
you to keep your tryst. Do you understand me so little, that 
you doubted my word?” 

Her bonnet had slipped back, and as all the chastened 
beauty of her face framed in the dainty cap, became fully 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


S14 

exposed, a heavy sigh escaped him, and he set his teeth, like 
one nerved to endure torture. 

For months he had nourished the germ of a generous 
purpose, had tried to accustom himself to the idea of ulti- 
mately surrendering her; but in her presence, a certain bitter 
fury swept away the wretched figment, and he remembered 
only how fair, how holy, how dear she was to him. Once 
more the cry of his famishing heart was: “Death may part 
us. I swear no man’s arms ever shall.” 

“Why waylay and torment me? Have I not suffered 
enough at your hands ? Between me and mine not even you 
can come.” 

“Take care! For your sake I am here, hoping to spare 
you some pangs; to allow you at least an opportunity to see 
him — ” 

“What have you done? Don’t tell me I am too late. 
Where is he ? Oh I where — ^where is he ?” 

She had sprung up, and her hands closed around his arm, 
shaking it in the desperation of her dread; while her voice 
quivered under the strain of a conjecture that Bertie had 
already been arrested. 

“Where is your chivalrous, courageous, unselfish, devoted 
lover? To ascertain exactly where he skulks, is my mission 
to Canada; for I thought I had schooled myself to bear the 
pain of — ” 

“What do you mean? What have you done with my 
Bertie ? Oh — ” 

She threw herself suddenly on her knees, held up her 
hands, and a wailing cry broke the stillness: 

“Save him, Mr. Dunbar ! You will break my heart if you 
bring ruin upon his dear head. He is all I have on earth, 
he is my own brother ! My brother ! my brother 1” 

The blood ebbed from his face ; the haughty mouth 
twitched in a sudden spasm, and he put his hand over his 
eyes. 

Could she adopt this ruse to thwart pursuit of the man 
whom she idolized? For half a moment he stood, with 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


515 


whitened lips; then stooped, took the face of the kneeling 
W'oman in his palms, and scanned it. 

“Your brother?” 

“My brother. Do you understand at last, why I must 
save him? Why you must help me to screen him from 
ruin ?” 

“Great God ! After all, what a blind fool I have been !” 

He raised her, placed her on the bench; sat down and 
leaned his head on his hand. To Beryl, the silence that 
followed was an excruciating torture, beyond even her oower 
of endurance. 

“Do not keep me in suspense. Where is Bertie? Let me 
see him, if he is here.” 

“He is not here. It was to assist you in finding him, that 
I enticed you here.” 

“You enticed me?” 

“I put the advertisement in the ‘Herald’, knowing that T 
you chanced to see it, all the legions of Satan could not keep 
you away. I have been here since Sunday, waiting and 
watching. I was obliged to see you, for your own sake, as 
well as to satisfy my longing to look once more into your 
face; and I felt assured the magnetic name of ‘Bertie’ would 
draw you here swiftly.” 

“Then it was only a snare, that advertisement ? Oh ! you 
are cruel !” 

“Not to you. It was to promote your peace of mind, by 
enabling you to meet the man who, I supposed was your 
lover, that I invited you to this place. Mark you, only to 
see, never to marry him.” 

“Where is he?” 

“Exactly where, I do not yet know; but very soon you 
shall learn.” 

“Is he in peril?” 

“Not from arrest at present, by human officers of retri- 
butive justice.” 

“He is not coming here?” 

“Certainly not.” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


516 

“How did you learn his name?” 

“I suspected that the advertisement you published in the 

“Herald” after leaving X , was a clue that would aid me. 

I clung to it, for I was sure it referred to the man whom 
I have hunted so persistently.” 

“You have something to tell me. Be merciful, and end my 
suspense.” 

“First, answer one question. Why did you conceal from 
me the fact that you had a brother? Why did you allow 
me to suffer from a false theory, that you knew made my 
life a slow torture?” 

He leaned nearer, and under the blue fire of his eager 
eyes, the blood mounted into her pale cheeks. 

“My motive belongs to a past, with which I trust I have 
done forever; and you have no right to violate its buried 
a;^hes.” 

“I must, and I will have all the truth, cost what it may. 
Between you and me, no spectre of mystery shall longer 
stalk. If you had trusted me, and confessed the facts before 
the trial, you would have muzzled me effectually, and pre- 
vented the employment of detectives whom I have hissed on 
your brother’s track. Why did you lead me astray, and con- 
firm my suspicion that you were shielding a lover?” 

“I was innocent ; but my name, my father’s honored name, 
was in jeopardy of dishonor, and to protect it, I would not 
undeceive you. Had my brother been convicted, the estab- 
lished guilt would have tarnished forever our only legacy, 
all that father left to Bertie and to me — his spotless name.” 

“You are quibbling. Did you shield the family name by 
enduring the purgatory of seeing your own on the list of 
penitentiary convicts? You deliberately fastened the odium 
of the crime upon your father’s daughter; and you knew, 
you understood perfectly, that by strengthening my errone- 
ous supposition, you were lashing me to a pursuit of the per- 
son, whom you could have best protected by frankly telling 
me all. If he is really your brother, what did you expect to 
accomplish by fostering my belief that he was your lover?” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


517 


*‘Mr. Dunbar, spare me this inquisition. Release me from 
the rack of suspense. Tell me why you set this snare, baited 
with Bertie’s name ?’’ 

“I must first end my own suspense. If you wish to find 
the man, you tell me is your brother, I will aid you only 
when you have bared your heart to me. You had some 
powerful incentive unrevealed. I will know exactly, why 
you made me suffer all these years, the pangs of a devouring 
jealousy, keener than a vulture’s talons.” 

With crimson cheeks, and shy, averted eyes, she sat 
trembling; unconsciously locking and unlocking her fingers. 
Her head drooped, and the voice was a low flutter: 

“If I had told you that the handkerchief was one I gave 
to my brother, because he fancied the gay border, and that' 
the pipe belonged to my dear father, and if you had known 

that for more than a year before I went to X no tidings 

from that brother had reached me, would you have kept 
my secret, when you saw my life laid in the scales held by 
the jury? Suppose they had condemned me to death? I 
expected that fate; but knowing the truth, would you have 
permitted the execution of that sentence?” 

“Certainly not; and you understand why I should never 
have allowed it.” 

“I knew that in such an emergency I could not trust 
you.” 

Five minutes passed, while he silently sought to unravel 
the web; and Beryl dared not meet his gaze. 

“You had some stronger motive, else you would have con- 
fessed all, when I started to Dakota. Anxiety for your 
brother’s safety would have unsealed your lips. What actu- 
ated you then? I mean to know everything now.” 

“Miss Gordon was my friend. She showed me kindness 
which I could never forget.” 

“Miss Gordon is a very noble woman, kinder to all the 
world than to herself; but did gratitude to her involve sacri- 
fice of me?” 

“You were betrothed. I owed it to her, to keep you loyal 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


Si8 

to your vows, as far as my power extended. I tried faith- 
fully to guard her happiness, while endeavoring to shield my 
brother.’' 

“Knowing you had all my heart, you dared not let me 
learn that the rival existed only in my imagination? loyal 
soul ! Did you deem it a kindness to aid in binding her to 
an unloving husband? Her womanly instincts saved her 
from that death in life; and years ago, she set us both free. 
She wears no willows, let me tell you ; and those who should 
know best, think that before very long she will sail for 
Europe as wife of Governor Glenbeigh, the newly appointed 

minister to Z , a brilliant position, which she will nobly 

grace. She will be happier as Glenbeigh’s wife than I could 
possibly have made her; for he loves her as she deserves to 
be loved. So, for Miss Gordon’s sake, you immolated me?” 

Only the pathetic piping of the lonely bird made answer. 

Like the premonitory thrill that creeps through forest 
leaves, before the coming burst of a tempest, he seemed to 
tremble slightly; his tone had a rising ring, and a dark flush 
stained his swarthy face, deepened the color in his brilliant eyes. 

“Oh, my white rose ! A wonderful fragrance of hope 
steals into the air; a light breaks upon my dreary world 
that makes me giddy ! Can it be possible that you — ” 

He paused, and she covered her face with her hands. 

“Beryl, you are the only woman I have ever loved. You 
came suddenly into my life, as an irresistible incarnation of 
some fateful witchery that stole and fired my heart, sub- 
verted all my plans, made havoc of lifelong hopes, domi- 
nated my will, changed my nature; overturned the cool 
selfishness on the altar of my worship, and set up your own 
image in a temple, swept, garnished, and sanctified forever 
by your in-dwelling. You have cost me stinging humilia- 
tion, years of regret, of bitter disappointment; and the 
ceaselessly gnawing pain of a jealous dread that despite my 
vigilance, another man might some day possess you. I have 
money, influence, professional success, gratified ambition, 
and enviable social eminence; I have all but that which a 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


519 


man wants most, the one woman in the great wide world 
whom he loves truly, loves better than he loves himself ; and 
-who holds his heart in the hollow of her hand. I want my 
beautiful, proud, pure, stately white rose. I want my Beryl. 
I will have my own.” 

He had risen, stood before her; took the hands that veiled 
her countenance, and drew her to her feet. 

“You have been loyal to parents, to brother, to friends, 
to duty; be loyal now to your own heart; answer me truly. 
What did you mean when you once said, with a mournful 
pathos I cannot forget: ‘We love not always whom we 
should, or would, were choice permitted us?’ You defied me 
that day, and prayed God to bless your lover; taunted me 
with words that have made days dreary, nights hideous: 
‘To whom I have given my whole deep heart, you shall never 
know.’ Did you mean — ah — will you tell me now?” 

She bent her head till it almost touched him, but no answer 
came. 

“You will not? I swear you shall; else I shall hope, 
believe, know beyond all doubt, that during these years, I 
have not been the only sufferer; and that loyal as was your 
soul, your rebel heart is as truly mine, as all my deathless 
love 4 is surely yours.” 

She tried to withdraw her hands; but his hold tightened, 
and infinite exultation rang in his voice. 

“My darling! My darling — you dare not deny it? I shall 
wear my white rose to make all the future sweet with a 
blessed love; but have you no word of assurance for my 
hungry ears? Is my darling too proud?” 

He raised her hands, laid her arms around his neck, and 
folded very close to his heart, the long coveted prize. 

“My Beryl, it was a stubborn battle, but Lennox Duj> 
bar claims his own; and will hold her safe forever. Will 
you be loyal to your tyrant ?” 

Was it a white or a crimson rose that hid its lovely petals 
against his shoulder, and whispered with lips that Mas 
had rouged: 


520 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


“Have I ever been allowed a choice? Was I not fore- 
doomed to be always at the mercy of Tiberius?” 

The little garden was growing dusky, the gilded mist wav- 
ing its spectral banners over the thundering cataract, had 
whitened as the sun went down behind the wooded crest 
that barred the western sky line; and the shimmering gold 
on the heaving, whirling current of the Rapids faded to 
leaden tints, flecked with foam, as like a maddened suitor, 
parted by Goat Island from its beloved, it rushed to plunge 
into the abyss, where the silvery bridal veil shook her signal, 
and all the roaring gorge filled with purple gloom.. 

Mr. Dunbar drew his companion’s hand under his arm, 
and led her toward the Clifton House. 

“You and I have done with shadows. On the heights 
yonder, the sun still shines. Up there waits one, who will 
tell you that which he refuses to divulge to any one else. 
Ten days ago my agents notified me that a man was search- 
ing for Mrs. Brentano and her daughter Beryl in New 
York; and that he had gone to X , where he spent sev- 

eral days in consultation with the Catholic priest. Single- 
ton sent me a telegram, and I reached X in time to ac- 

company the stranger back to New York. To me he admits 
only, that he lives in Montreal; and is the bearer of a mes- 
sage, the import of which, sacred promises prevent him 
from revealing to any one but Miss Brentano. He is an 
elderly man, and so wary, no amount of dexterity can cir- 
cumvent his caution. Very complex and inexplicable mo- 
tives brought me here; chiefly the longing to see you, to 
learn your retreat, your mode of existence; and also the in- 
tention to exact one condition, before I made it possible for 
you to find the object of your search. When you had given 
me your promise not to marry him, it was my purpose to 
allow you one final meeting; and if you forfeited your com- 
pact, the dungeon and the gallows awaited him. Love makes 
women martyrs; they are the apostles of the gospel of altru- 
ism. Love revives in men of my stamp, the primeval and 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


521 


undifferentiated tiger. When I think of all that you have 
endured, of how nearly I lost you, my snowdrop, do you 
wonder I shall hasten to set you in the garden of my heart, 
and shelter your dear head from every chill wind of ad- 
versity ?” 

They had passed through a gate, crossed a lawn, and 
reached a long, steep flight of steps leading straight up the 
face of a cliff, to the grounds attached to a villa. With her 
hand clasped tightly in his, Mr. Dunbar and Beryl slowly 
mounted the abrupt stairway, and when they gained the 
elevated terrace, a man who was walking up and down the 
sward, came quickly forward. 

Pressing her fingers tenderly, Mr. Dunbar released her 
hand. 

“When your interview is ended, come to me yonder at the 
side gate, where I have a carriage to take you over the 
bridge. Father Beckx, this is Miss Brentano. I leave her 
in your care.” 

The sun was sending his last level shafts of light from 
the edge of the sky, when a man dressed in long black vest- 
ments, a raven-haired, raven-eyed, thin lipped and clean 
shaven personage, with a placid countenance as coldly ir- 
responsive as a stone mask, sat down on the top step of the 
long stairs, beside the woman in gray, whose eager white 
face was turned to meet his, in breathless and mute ex- 
pectancy. 

The lingering twilight held at bay slowly marching night ; 
the sunset glory streamed up almost to the zenith in bands 
of amethyst and faint opaline green, like the far reaching 
plumes of an archangel’s pinions beating the still, crystal 
air. Later, the vivid orange of the afterglow burned with 
a transient splendor, as the dying smile of a day that had 
gone to its eternal grave; and all the West was one vast 
evening primrose of palest gold sprinkled with star dust, 
when Beryl went slowly to join the figure pacing restlessly 
in front of the gate. 

Across the grassy lawn he came to meet her. In mute 


522 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


surrender she lifted her arms, laid her proud head, with 
its bared wealth of burnished bronze hair, down on his 
shoulder, and wept passionately. 

When he had placed her in the carriage, and held her 
close to his heart, with his dark cheek resting on hers, 
where tears still trickled, he whispered: 

' “How much are you willing to tell me?” 

“Only that I must start at once on a long, lonely journey 
to a desolate retreat, in mountain solitudes; far away in 
the wilderness of the Northwest. Bertie is there; and I 
must see him once more.” 

“How soon do you wish to start?” 

“Within the next three days.” 

“You must wait one week. I cannot go before that time.” 

“You—?” 

“Do you suppose I shall allow you to travel there with- 
out me? Do you imagine I shall ever lose sight of you, till 
the vows are uttered that make you my wife? You cannot 

see your brother’s face, until you have first looked into 

your husband’s. In one week I can arrange to go, to the 
ends of the earth if you will ; but you will meet your brother 
only when you are Beryl Dunbar.” 

“No — no ! You forget, ah ! — ^You forget. I have worn 
the penitentiary homespun, and the brand of the convict 
seared my fair name, scarred all my life. The wounds will 

heal, but time can never efface the hard lines of the cica- 

trice; and I could not bear to mar the lustre of your hon- 
ored name by—” 

“Hush ! — hush. It is ungenerous in you to wound me so 
sorely. When I remember the fiery furnace through which 
my wife walked unscorched, with such sublime and patient 
heroism, is it possible that I should forget whose rash hand, 
whose besotted idiocy consigned her to the awful ordeal? 
Out of the black shadow where I thrust you, sprang the 
halo that glorifies you. How often, in the silence of my 
sleepless nights, have I heard the echo of your wild, despair- 
ing cry: Wou have ruined my life!’ Oh, my darling! If 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


523 


you withhold yourself, if you cast me away, you will indeed 
ruin mine. If you could realize how I wince at the recol- 
lection of your suffering, you would not cruelly remind me 
of my own accursed work.” 

“If the soul of my brother be ransomed thereby, I shall 

thank you, even for all that X cost me. The world 

knows now, that no suspicion clings to me; but, Mr. Dun- 
bar, the disgrace blots forever the dear name I tried to 
shield; and my vindication only blackens Bertie.” 

“The world will never know. Your sad secret shall be 
kept, and my name shall wrap you in ermine, and my love 
make your future redeem the past. Having found my 
darling, can I afford to run the risk of losing her? You 
belong to me, and I will not trust you out of my sight, until 
the law gives me a husband’s claim. The mother of one of 
my oldest friends is boarding here in Niagara. I will com- 
mit you to her care until to-morrow; then some church will 
furnish an altar where you shall pledge me your loyalty.” 

“Impossible ! To-night a train will take me to Buffalo, 
where I can catch the express going West. There are rea- 
sons why I must make no delay ; must hasten back to explain 
many things to the Matron of the Sisterhood, where I have 
dwelt so safely and so peacefully since I left X .” 

“Give me the reasons. Tmpossihlel ne me dites jamais 
ce bHe de mot!* Give me your reasons.” 

His arm tightened around her. 

“Not now.” 

“Then you shall not leave me. I will endure no more 
mysteries.” 

“Mr. Dunbar, I wear the uniform of a celibate Order of 
Gray Sisters; and the matron trusted me in an unusual 
degree, when she consented that I should undertake this 
journey on a secret mission. I came to Niagara, as I sup- 
posed, to keep an appointment with my brother, and I met 
you. If I lingered one instant here, it might reflect some 
discredit upon this dear gray garb, which all hold so irre- 
proachable. Sister Ruth trusted me. I cannot, I will not, 


524 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


even in the smallest iota, appear to betray her confidence; 
and I must go at once, and go as I came — alone. Bid the 
driver take me to the railway station, and you must remain 
in the carriage, I can have no escort. Your presence 
would subject me to criticism, and I will guard the ‘gray’ 
that so mercifully guarded me,” 

“Beryl, are you trying to elude me?” 

“I am faithfully trying to keep my compact with Sister 
Ruth. Here is a card bearing the exact address of the ‘An- 
chorage’. I am going there as quickly as possible, to make 
speedy arrangements for my long journey West, to that 
place almost within sound of the Pacific Ocean.” 

“Put your hand in mine. Promise me before God, that 
you will not vanish from me; that you will not leave the 
‘Anchorage’ until I come and see you there.” 

“I promise; but time presses. I must hasten to find Ber- 
tie.” 

“Do you know exactly where to go ?” 

“Yes. I have minute directions written down.” 

“Wait until I come. I trust you to keep your promise. 
Ah ! after to-day, I could not bear to lose my 'Rosa Alba/ 
God make me more worthy of my loyal and beautiful 
darling. After all, not Alcestis, but Antigone !” 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

White and still, lay the world of the far Northwest, 
wrapped in peace as profound as that which reigned in 
primeval ages; when ancestral Nahuas, dragging their sleds 
across frozen Behring Straits, or cast amid other drift of 
the Japanese current upon the strange new Pacific shore, 
climbed the mountains, and fell on their faces before the 
sun, whose worshippers have sacrificed in all hemispheres. 

If civilization be the analogue of geologic accretion, how 
tortuous is the trend and dip of the ethnological strata, how 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


525 


abrupt the overlapping of myths. How many seons divided 
the totem coyote from the she-wolf of Romulus and Remus? 
Which is the primitive and parent flame, the sacred fire of 
Pueblo Estufas, of Greek Prytaneum, of Roman Vesta, of 
Persian Atish-khudahs ? If the Laurentian system be the 
oldest upheaval of land, and its “dawn animal” the first evo- 
lution of life that left fossil footprints, where are all the 
missing links in ethnology, which would save science that 
rejects Genesis — the paradox of peopling the oldest known 
continent by immigration from those incalculably younger? 

Winter had lagged, loath to set his snow shoes upon the 
lingering, diaphanous train of Indian Summer, but Decem- 
ber was inexorable, and the livery of ice glittered every- 
where in the mid-day sun. 

Along a well-worn bridle trail, now slippery as glass, 
winding around the base of crags, through narrow gorges 
that almost overarched, leaving a mere skylight of intense 
blue to mark the way, moved a party of four persons in 
single file, slowly ascending a steep spiral. In advance, 
mounted on a black pony, was a cowled monk, whose long, 
thin profile suggested that of Savonarola; and just behind 
him rode a Canadian half-breed guide, with the copperish 
red of aboriginal America on his high cheek bones, and the 
warm glow of sunny France in his keen black eyes. Guiding 
his horse with the left hand, his right led the dappled mus- 
tang belonging to the third figure; a tall, broad-shouldered 
man wearing an overcoat that reached to his knees, who 
walked with his hand on the bridle bit of a white mule, 
whereon sat a woman, wrapped in silver fox furs from 
throat to feet. A cap or hood of the same soft, warm 
material was worn over her head, where a roll of dark 
auburn hair coiled at the back; and around her white tem- 
ples clustered rings and tendrils of the glossy bronze locks 
that contrasted so singularly with the black arch of the 
brows, and the fringe that darkened the luminous gray eyes. 

One month had elapsed since the Umilta Sisters of the 
“Anchorage”, following Sister Ruth, walked in the star-lit 


526 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


dawn of a November day, to a neighboring church, and 
watched Doctor Grantlin lead down the aisle, a pale, 
trembling woman whose hand he placed in that of the man, 
waiting in front of the altar. The Sisterhood had listened 
to the solemn words of the marriage service, the interchange 
of vows, and the benediction, while priestly hands were laid 
upon two bowed heads. 

When the rising sun greeted the husband and wife, they 
were speeding westward, on the first stage of their long 
journey. 

To-day, the quest would end; and into Beryl’s face had 
crept the wistful yearning that was a reflection of that 
strange blending of patience and longing, which made her 
so beautiful in her husband’s eyes; so strong in faith, so 
serene in waiting resignation. Suddenly the monk drew 
rein, threw up his drooping head, and listened. Clear and 
sweet as the silvery chime of bells ringing in happy dreams, 
floated through the crystal air the sound of the Angelus ; and 
fainter and fainter fell the echoes, dying in immeasurable 
distance. Low bent the shaven head, and through brown 
fingers stole the consecrated beads, while with closed eyes 
the prayers were uttered; and in the pause, the guide made 
the sign of the cross, and Mr. Dunbar instinctively took off 
his hat. 

“Six hours’ steady climbing is a severe tax. Are you 
very tired?” he whispered, laying his arm around Beryl’s 
waist, and lifting his brilliant eyes eloquent with an infinite 
tenderness. 

With one hand on his shoulder as he stood beside her, 
she leaned down until her lips touched the black hair tossed 
back from his forehead. 

“After waiting so many terrible years, what are a few 
more hours of suspense? Since I have you, can I ever 
again feel tired?” 

Behind them lay a dark undulating line, where oak and 
cedar had made their last stand on the upward march ; 
nearer, the spectral ranks of stunted firs showed the outposts 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


527 


of forest advance; and a few feet from the narrow path, 
a perpendicular cliff formed one wall of a deep canon, where 
a glittering ribbon of water hurried to leap into the Pacific, 
ere pursuing Winter arrested and bound it with icy manacles 
to its stony bed. To the north dazzling white peaks cut 
strange solemn shapes, like silver cameos on a ground of 
indigo sky; and overhead, burnished lines of snow geese 
printed their glittering triangles on the paler blue of the 
zenith, as the winged host dipped southward. 

The monk moved on, and after a while his companions 
perceived that the way descended rapidly until they reached 
the face of a rock that rose straight and smooth as a wall 
of human masonry, and apparently barred further progress. 
Taking from his bosom the twisted section of a polished 
horn, only a finger’s length, the cowled figure raised it to 
his lips, and blew three whistles, that ended in a rising 
inflection which waked all the wolfish pack of mountain 
echoes into fitful barking. Two moments later, an answer- 
ing signal seemed to issue from the invisible jaws of Hades; 
a wild, quivering sepulchral cry, as of a monster half 
throttled. Twenty feet beyond the spot where the party had 
halted, a steep descent led them to a shelving canon, once 
the bed of a broad mountain torrent, whose course some 
seismic upheaval had diverted to other channels. Follow- 
ing for a few yards the sinuous stony way, worn here and 
there into smooth circular cavities like miniature wells, by 
the eddying of the ancient current and the grinding of peb- 
bles, the travellers turned a sharp angle, and found them- 
selves at the mouth of Tartarus. 

The force of the stream had originally cut a low arch in 
its egress, which human needs and ingenuity had broadened, 
heightened and closed by heavy iron bars, slipped into stone 
slots. Behind this gateway glimmered a faint light that 
brightened into a red star; and soon, a figure clad in the 
long, black monastic gown, and bearing a huge torch of 
blazing pitch pine, emerged from the bowels of the earth. 


528 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


There was the rattle of a chain, the creak of a pulley, and 
the bars were lowered. 

So vividly did the scene recall that black, stormy night in 
February, when Mr. Dunbar had seen the lantern of the 
gaoler flash through the penitentiary gates closing on the 
young convict, that he drew his breath now through clinched 
teeth, and quickly laid his hand upon that of his wife, which 
grasped the bridle resting upon the neck of her mule. Si- 
lently the procession filed in, and with little delay the torch 
bearer replaced the bars, advanced to the he-^ad of the col- 
umn, and with long, swift strides led the way down a wide 
tunnel. Between the monks no salutation was exchanged; 
and only the ringing tramp of the horses’ feet on the stone 
pavement, jarred the profound stillness. The lurid glare 
of the torch danced on the rocky vault, and the shadows 
projected by men and beasts were gigantic and grotesque. 
Very soon a gray twilight stole to meet them; an arch of 
light like a window opening into heaven brightened, glared, 
and the party emerged into a courtyard that seemed an 
entrance to some vast amphitheatre. 

Opposite the mouth of the tunnel, and distant perhaps two 
hundred yards, lay an oval lake, bordered on the right by 
a valley running southeast, while its northern shore rose 
abruptly in a parapet of rock, that patient cloistered work- 
men had cut into broad terraces; and upon which opened 
rows of cells excavated from the mountain side, and re- 
sembling magnified swallow nests, or a huge petrified honey- 
comb sliced vertically. 

A legend so hoary, that “the memory of man runneth not 
to the contrary”, had assigned the outlines of this stone 
cutting to that dim dawn of primeval tribal life, which left 
its later traces in the Watch Tower of the Mancos, the Casa 
del Eco, and the “niche stairway of the Hovenweep”. 

In the slow deposition of the human strata, cliff' dwellers 
disappeared beneath predatory, nomadic modern savages, 
who, hunting and fishing in this lonely fastness, had in- 
creased its natural fortifications, and made it an impregnable 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


529 


depot of supplies, until Hudson Bay trappers wrenched it 
from their grasp, and appropriated it as a peltry magazine. 
To the dynasty of traders had succeeded the spiritual rule of 
a Jesuit Mission; then miners kindled camp fires in the de- 
serted excavations, as they probed the mountain for ores; 
and more recently the noiseless feet of a band of holy 
celibates belonging to an austere Order, went up and down 
the face of the cliff, with cross and bell and incense exor- 
cising haunting aboriginal spectres; while holy water 
sprinkled the uncanny, dismal precincts of a circular room 
hollowed behind and beneath all other apartments, the 
monumental, sacred Estufa. 

At a signal from the monk who had escorted them, Mr. 
Dunbar lifted Beryl from her saddle, and hand in hand they 
followed him across the courtyard, mounted a flight of steps 
cut in the rock, and passed into a low, dim room, where the 
ceiling was crossed in squares by heavy, red cedar beams. 
The floor was paved v/ith diamond-shaped slabs of purple 
slate, the whitewashed wall adorned with colored litho- 
graphs of the Passion; and above the cavernous chimney 
arch, where cedar logs blazed, ran the inscription: ^‘Otiosita^ 
inimica est animoeT 

Noiselessly as the wings of a huge bat, a leathern screen 
was folded back from the comer of the room, and a venera- 
ble man advanced from the gloom. 

A fringe of white hair surrounded his head like a laurel 
chaplet in old statues, and the heavy, straight brows that 
almost met across the nose, hung as snowflakes over the 
intensely black eyes as glowing as lamps set in the sockets 
of an ivory image. Scholarly and magnetic as Abelard, 
with a certain innate proud poise of the head and shoulders, 
that ill accorded with the Carlo-Borromeo expression of 
seraphic serenity and meekness, set like a seal on the large 
square mouth, he looked a veritable type of the ecclesiastical 
cenobites who, since the days of Pachomius at Tabennse, 
have made their hearts altars of the Triple Vows, and 
girdled the globe with a cable of scholastic mysticism. The 


530 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


pale, shrunken hand he laid on the black serge that covered 
his breast, was delicate as a woman’s, and checkered with 
knotted lines where the blood crept feebly. 

Bowing low, he spoke in a carefully modulated voice, deep 
and resonant as a bass viol: 

“Welcome to such hospitality as our poverty permits. A 
cipher telegram forwarded from the nearest station, sixty 
miles hence, prepared us to expect a newly-married woman 
searching for a man, known to the secular world as Robert 
Luke Brentano. You claim to be his nearest blood rela- 
tive ?” 

“I am his sister. How is he?” 

“Alive, but sinking fast; sustained beyond all human cal- 
culation by the hope of seeing you. You have not come one 
moment too soon. The man you seek is only a lay brother 
here. The rules of our Order forbid the admission of women 
to the cloister, but in articulo mortis! can I deny him now 
the confession he wishes to offer you? Our holy ordinances 
have done their divine work; the last rites of the Church 
have soothed and consecrated the heart of Brother Luke, 
and an hour ago, extreme unction was administered. Follow 
me. 

“He knows that I am coming?” asked Beryl, raising her 
white, tear-drenched face from her husband’s shoulder. 

“He knows; and holds death back to see you. His self- 
imposed penance makes him steadfastly refuse the com- 
parative comfort of our meagre infirmary, and it is his wish 
to die, where he has spent so many nights in penitential 
prayer. For several days, the paralysis of years has been 
gradually loosening its fetters, and this morning, the dis- 
tressing and ghastly distortion of one side of his face almost 
disappeared. Though his voice is well nigh gone, it returns 
fitfully, and his strength seems supernatural. Fearing that 
you might not arrive in time, I have written down his last 
confession, and here commit it to you.” 

He placed a roll of paper in her hand, and drawing his 
cowl over his head, led them up an easy stairway cut in 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


531 


the stone, to a second terrace four feet wide, that projected 
as a roof beyond the lower tier of cells. 

A hundred feet below lay the lakelet, shining as a mirror; 
to the southeast stretched a valley bounded by buttes crowned 
with cedar, and in the undulating field, locked from fierce 
winds, cattle and goats sunned themselves, where in summer 
time grain waved, fruit ripened, and bees hummed. 

From the parapet of a low wall facing west, rose a round 
tower heavily buttressed, where swung the bell ; and through 
an open arch in the side, under the uplifted cross, the eye 
swept on and on, over a world of snowy peaks, dark canons, 
mountain minarets girding the northern horizon; and far, 
far away a scintillating thread of white fire marked where 
the Pacific smiled behind the fiords that channelled the rock- 
ribbed coast. 

In that still, cold and brilliant atmosphere, how dazzling 
the snow blink, how sharp the outline of projected shadows, 
how close the bending heavens seemed; but to the yearning 
soul of Beryl, the silent, solemn sublimity of the mighty 
panorama made no appeal. 

Through slowly dripping tears she saw only the spectral 
flitting of her mother’s sad face, as in their last interview 
she had committed the soul of the son to the guardianship 
of the daughter. 

The monk paused, and pointed to the third cell from the 
spot where he stood. 

‘Tt is but a step farther. Yonder, where the skull is set 
over the entrance.” 

“I will wait here,” said Mr. Dunbar, relinquishing with 
a tight pressure, his wife’s cold hand. 

“No, come. Are we not one?” 

She hurried along the terrace, and reached the low open 
doorway fronting the South, where the sunshine streamed 
in like God’s smile of forgiveness. 

On the stone floor was a straw pallet covered with coarse 
brown blankets, whereon, half propped by one elbow, with 
head against the gray rocky wall, lay the emaciated wreck 


532 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


of a man, whose pallid face might have been mistaken for 
that of a corpse, but for the superhuman splendor of the 
wide, deep brown eyes. 

Beryl sprang into the cave-like recess, and fell on her 
knees. She snatched him to her heart, laid his head on her 
shoulder. 

“Bertie ! My darling ! my darling ! — ” 

He tried to raise one arm to her neck, but it fell back. 
She lifted it, held it close, and face to face with her lips on 
his, she broke into passionate sobbing, rocking herself to 
and fro, in the tempest of grief. 

“Give me, give — me — air — ” He struggled for breath, 
which her tight clasp denied him; and for some minutes he 
panted, while Mr. Dunbar fanned him with his hat. Then 
the heaving chest grew more quiet, and after a moment, his 
eyes lighted with a happy smile as they fastened on Beryl’s 
face, bent over him. 

“Gigina, sweet, faithful sister, it is almost heaven to see 
you once more. God is good, even to me.” 

“If I could have found you sooner ! All these dreadful 
years I have lived at God’s feet — with one prayer: let me 
help my Bertie, let me see my brother’s face,” m.oaned Beryl, 
pressing her lips to the clammy, fleshless hand she held 
against her throat. 

“I was too unworthy. I dreaded your pure eyes, and 
mother’s, as I would an accusing angel’s. I did not know, 
then, that mother was already one of the Beatified. I know 
now, that neither life nor death, nor sin nor shame, nor the 
brand of disgrace can change mother’s love; for I see her 
to-day, smiling at the door, beckoning me to follow where 
the sun shines forever. My sainted mother.” 

“Her last breath was a blessing for you. See, Bertie ! 
this was her wedding ring. Her final message was, ‘Give 
this to my darling!’ Be comforted, dear Bertie, she loved 
you even to the end — supremely. You were her idol in 
death as in life. Our father’s ring was the most sacred 
relic she owned, and she left it to you.” 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


533 


She attempted to place the gold band on one of his fin- 
gers, but he closed that hand, and the dark eyes so like his 
mother’s, were for an instant dimmed by tears. 

“Keep it; no sin of theft soils your hands. You can wear 
it without a blush. You never robbed an old man of his 
gold. That was my crime. I am a thief.” 

“Our God sees you have repented bitterly; and He has 
pardoned your sins for His dear Son’s sake. Tell me, 
Bertie, have you made your eternal salvation sure? Are 
you, in your soul, at peace with God?” 

“At perfect peace. I want to die, because now I am no 
longer afraid to meet Him, who forgives even thieves. Gigi, 
wait a little — ” 

He seemed to make a desperate effort to rally his strength, 
and the thin, fine nostril flared, in the battle for breath. 

“There has been a terrible mistake, and they made you 
suffer for what they imagined happened. When I found I 
had only a few months to live, I wrote to Father Beckx, 
whom I had known in Montreal, and asked him to tell 

mother where I was. I never knew till he went to X 

and wrote us about the trial, that you were suspected and 
punished for a crime that was never committed. I thought 
you and mother were safe in New York, all those years, 
and I knew that you would be sure to take care of her. I 
have it all written down — and I can’t tell you now — but 
I want to look straight into your dear eyes — my brave 
sister, my loving sister — and let you learn first from me — 
the reward you have won — your Bertie is not a murderer. 
I did take the money from the vault which was wide open, 
when first I saw it. I did steal and destroy the will, which 
I thought unjustly robbed us all of our right to the Bar- 
rington estate, but that was my sole offence. I am a thief, 
before God and man, but there is no more stain of blood on 
my hands than on yours. General Barrington was not mur- 
dered. He died by the hand of God alone — ” 

A bluish shadow settled around his parted lips, and he 
panted. 


534 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


Mr. Dunbar raised him, fanned him, rested his head more 
comfortably against his sister’s shoulder ; and again he 
looked intently into her eyes, as though his soul, plumed 
for departure, must right itself in the presence of hers, be- 
fore the final flight. 

“He struck me with the andiron, and broke my wrist here 
— then before I ever touched him — as he raised it to assault 
me the second time — there came an awful blinding glare — 
the world was wrapped in a blue fire — and God struck us 
both down. When I became conscious, my senses were all 
stunned, but after a while I knew I was lying on the floor, 
with a cold hand resting like lead on my face. I got up; 
the figure didn’t move, and I supposed that like myself he 
was stunned by the shock. As I passed a mirror on my way 
to the window — I saw myself — for the lamp was burning 
bright. God had branded me a thief. Do you see here — 
drawn — paralyzed, oh, Gina ! All these years I have worn 
the dark streak, and one eye was blind, one ear stone deaf. 
I was a walking shadow of my own sin; horrible to look 
upon — and I fled to avoid the gaze of my race. Somewhere, 
in Illinois I think, I heard two men on a train speak of 
a large reward offered for the recovery of Gen’l Darring- 
ton’s will, which had been stolen by one of his heirs, whom 
the police were hunting. I was branded — and on my breast 
here was printed the face of the dead man — for he had 
torn my shirt open as he seized me with one hand, and struck 
me with the other. I hid in mines, crossed the plains, 
secreted myself in a bee ranche. Then the Canadian rail- 
road was partly built, and I joined the grading party and 
worked — until the curse of my sin was more than I could 
bear. I heard of the holy Brothers here, made my last 
journey, confessed my theft, and entered on my penance. 
Gina, General Darrington was killed instantly by the light- 
ning.” 

As the burden Beryl had long borne slipped suddenly from 
her heart, the joy of release from blood- stain was so unex- 
pected, so intense, that her face blanched to a deadly pallor. 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


535 

and the glad eyes she lifted to her husband’s shone as those 
of an angel. 

“Bertie — Bertie — ” Words failed her. She could only 
kiss the wasted cold hands that were innocent of bloodshed. 

After some moments, the dying man said almost in a 
whisper : 

“I never knew you were punished for my sin, until it 
was too late to save you, but God’s witness cleared your 
pure name. The lightning that scorched me, printed its 
testimony to set you free. My sister — my sister — God will 
surely v,;compense your faithful — ” The voice died in a 
quiveriv:^ gurgle. 

“I have my reward, dear Bertie. Oh, how much more 
than I deserve ! I have you in my arms, innocent of murder, 
thank God ! thank God ! I have the blessed assurance that 
your pardoned soul goes to meet mother’s in Eternal Peace; 
and to secure that, I would have willingly died an ignomini- 
ous death. It was through the fiery flames of prison, and 
trial and convict shame, that God led me to the most 
precious crown any woman ever wore, my husband’s confi- 
dence and love. Only behind dungeon bars could I have won 
my husband’s heart, which holds for me the whole wide 
world of earthly peace and hope. For your sin, you have 
suffered. Its consequences to others from the destruction of 
the will, have been averted by the prompt transfer of all the 
property which Gen’l Barrington left, to his chosen heir 
Prince. Pecuniarily no one was injured by your act. Dear 
Bertie — Bertie, are you listening?” 

He smiled but made no answer, and his eyes had a 
strained and exultant expression. After a long silence, he 
cried huskily: 

“The curse is taken away — out of my blinded eye I see — 

Agnus Dei qui tollis peccata mundi — 

A slight spasm shook him, and feeling his cheek grow 
colder. Beryl threw off the fur cloak, and folded it closely 
around the wasted body which leaned heavily against her. 
The sunny short rings of hair clung to his sunken, blue 


536 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 


veined temples, where cold drops gathered; and a gray seal 
was set about the wan lips that writhed in the fight for 
breath. 

“Bertie, kiss me — tell me you are not afraid.” 

She fancied he nestled his face closer, but the wide eyes 
were fixed on the golden light that was fading fast across 
the narrow doorway. 

Pressing her quivering lips to his, she sobbed: 

“Tell mother, her little girl was faithful — ” 

Another spasm shook the form, and after a little while, 
the eyes closed; the panting ceased, and the tired breath 
was drawn in long, shuddering sighs. 

Mr. Dunbar beckoned to the cowled form who, rosary in 
hand, paced the terrace, and the two laid the dying man back 
on his pallet of straw. 

Fainter grew the slow breath, and the voice of the monk 
rolled through the silence, like the tremolo swell of an 
organ : 

'‘Delicta juventutis, et ignorantias ejus, quoesiimus, ne 
memineris, Domine; sed secwtdum magnam misericordiam 
tuam memor esto illius in gloria claritaHs tuceF 

On the stone floor Beryl knelt, with her brother’s icy hand 
clasped against her cheek, and as she watched, the twitching 
of the muscles ceased, the lips so long distorted, took on 
their old curves of beauty. A marble pallor blanched the 
dark stain of the branded cheek, and the Bertie of innocent 
youth came slowly out of the long eclipse. 

Death, God’s most tender angel, laid her divine lips upon 
the scars of sin, that vanished at her touch ; drew her white 
fingers across the lines and shadows of suffering time, and 
leaving the halo of eternal peace upon the frozen features, 
gave back to Beryl her beautiful Bertie of old. 

The sun was setting; and far away the ice domes and 
minarets of immemorial mountains took on the burnished 
similitude of the New Jerusalem, which only the exiled saw 
from lonely Patmos. 


537 


AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS 

Lennox Dunbar lifted his wife from the form of the 
sleeper, whose ransomed soul had entered early into Rest; 
and folded her tenderly to the heart that henceforth was 
her refuge from all earthly woes. 

At midnight, the brooding silence of the snow-hooded soli- 
tude was broken by the tolling of the monastery bell; and 
while all the mountain echoes responded to the slow knell 
for the departed soul, there rose from the chapel under the 
cliffs, the solemn chant of the monks for their dead: 

^‘Requiem cetermm dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua 
luce at eisf' 

“Give them eternal rest, O Lord, and let perpetual light 
shine upon them.” 




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“This is a little idyl of humble life and enduring love, laid bare before 
us very real and pure, v/hich in its telling shows us some strong points of 
Welsh character— the pride, the hasty temper, the quick dying out of wrath. 

We call this a well-written story, interesting alike through its 
romance and its glimpses into another life than ours. A delightful and 
clever picture of Welsh village life. The result is excellent.”— Detroit Free 
Press. 

MIFANWY. The story of a V/elsh Singer. By Allan Raine. Cloth, 
izmo. with four illustrations by J. Watson Davis. Price, $ 1 . 00 . 

“This is a love story, simple, tender and pretty as one would care to 
read The action throughout is brisk and pleasing; the characters, it is ap- 
parent at once, are as true to life as though the author had known them 
all personally. Simple in all its situations, the story is worked up in that 
touching and quaint strain which never grows wearisome, no matter how 
nftpn the lights and shadows of love are introduced. It rings true, and 
does not tax the imagination.”-Boston Herald. 


SE:RIES of STAHBARB FICTION. 


DARNLEY. A Romance of the times of Henry VIII. and Cardinal Wolsey, 
By G. P. R. James. Cloth, i2mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson Davis. 
Price, $1.00. 

As a historical romance “Darnley” is a book that can be taken up 
pleasurably again and again, for there is about it that subtle charm which 
those who are strangers to the works of G. P. R. James have claimed was 
only to be imparted by Dumas. 

If there was nothing more about the work to attract especial attention, 
the account of the meeting of the kings on the historic “field of the cloth of 
gold” would entitle the story to the most favorable consideration of every 
reader. 

There is really but little pure romance in this story, for the author has 
taken care to imagine love passages only between those whom history has 
credited with having entertained the tender passion one for another, and 
he succeeds in making such lovers as all the world must kove. 

WINDSOR CASTLE. A Historical Romance of the Reign of Henry VIII 
Catharine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn. By Wm. Plarrison Ainsworth. Cloth. 
i2mo. with four illustrations by George Cruikshank. Price, $i.oo. 

“Windsor Castle” is the story of Henry VIII., Catharine, and Anne 
Boleyn. “Bluff King Hal,” although a well-loved monarch, was none too 
good a one in many ways. Of all his selfishness and unwarrantable acts, 
none was more discreditable than his divorce from Catharine, and his mar- 
riage to the beautiful Anne Boleyn. The King’s love was as brief as it 
was vehement. Jane Seymour, waiting maid on the Queen, attracted him, 
and Anne Boleyn was forced to the block to make room for her successor. 
This romance is one of extreme interest to all readers. 

HORSESHOE ROBINSON. A tale of the Tory Ascendency in South Caro- 
lina in 1780. By John P. Kennedy. Cloth, i2mo. with four illustrations by J. 
Watson Davis. Price, $r.oo. 

Among the old favorites in the field of w'hat is known as historical fic- 
tion, there are none which appeal to a larger number of Americans than 
Horseshoe Robinson, and this because it is the only story which depicts 
with fidelity to the facts the heroic efforts of the colonists in South Caro- 
lina to defend their homes against the brutal oppression of the British 
under such leaders as Cornwallis and Tarleton. 

The reader is charmed with the story of love which forms the thread 
of the tale, and then impressed with the wealth of detail concerning those 
times. The picture of the manifold sufferings of the people, is never over- 
drawn, but painted faithfully and honestly by one who spared neither 
time nor labor in his efforts to present in this charming love story all that 
price in blood and tears which the Carolinians paid as their share in the 
winning of the republic. 

Take it all in all, “Horseshoe Robinson” is a work which should be 
found on every book-shelf, not only because it is a most entertaining 
story, but because of the wealth of valuable information concerning the 
colonists which it contains. That it has been brought out once more, well 
illustrated, is something which will give pleasure to thousands who have 
long desired an opportunity to read the story again, and to the many who 
have tried vainly in these latter days to procure a copy that they might 
read it for the first time. 

THE PEARL OP ORR’S ISLAND. A story of the Coast of Maine. By 
Harriet Beecher Stowe. Cloth, i2mo. Illustrated. Price, $1.00. 

Written prior to 1862 , the “Pearl of Orr’s Island” is ever new; a book 
filled with delicate fancies, such as seemingly array themselves anew each 
time one reads them. One sees the “sea like an unbroken mirror all 
around the pine-girt, lonely shores of Orr’s Island,” and straightway 
comes “the heavy, hollow moan of the surf on the beach, like the wild 
angry howl of some savage animal.” 

Who can read of the beginning of that sweet life, named Mara, which 
came into this world under the very shadow of the Death angel’s wings, 
without having an intense desire to know hov/ the premature bud blos- 
somed? Again and again one lingers over the descriptions of the char- 
acter of that baby boy Moses, who came through the tempest, amid the 
angry billows, pillowed on his dead mother’s breast. 

There is no more faithful portrayal of New England life than that 
which Mrs. Stowe gives in “The Pearl of Orr’s Island.” 


S g:;RlE.S o/ STANDARB FSCTIOI^’. 

THE SPIRIT OF THE BORDER. A Romance of the Early Settlers in the 
Ohio Valley. By Zane Grey. Cloth. i2mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson 
Davis. Price ,$i.oo. 

A book rather out of the ordinary is this “Spirit of the Border.” The 
mam thread of the story has to do with the work of the Moravian mis- 
sionaries in the Ohio Valley. Incidentally the reader is given details of the 
frontier lite of those hardy pioneers who broke the wilderness for the plant- 
ing of this great nation. Chief among these, as a matter of course, is 
Lewis Wetzel, one of the most peculiar, and at the same time the most 
admirable of all the brave men who spent their lives battling with the 
savage foe, that ethers might dwell in comparative security. 

Details of the establishment and destruction of the Moravian “Village 
of Peace” are given at some length, and with minute description. The 
efforts to Christianize the Indians are described as they never have been 
before, and the author has depicted the characters of the leaders of the 
several Indian tribes with great care, which of itself will be of interest to 
the student. 

By no means least among the charms of the story are the vivfd word- 
pictures of the thrilling adventures, and the intense paintings of the beau- 
ties of nature, as seen in the almost unbroken forests. 

It is the spirit of the frontier which is described, and one can by it, 
perhaps, the better understand why men, and women, too, willingly braved 
every privation and da.nger that the westward progress of the star of em- 
pire might be the more certain and rapid. A love story, simple and tender, 
runs through the book. 


CAPTAIN BRAND, OF THE SCHOONER CENTIPEDE. By Dieut. 
Henry A. Wise, U.S. N. (Hariy Gringo). Cloth, izmo. with four illustra- 
tions by J. W'atson Davis. Price, $i.oo. 

The re-publication of this story will please those lovers of sea yarns 
who delight in so much of the salty flavor of the ocean as can come through 
the medium of a printed page, for never has a story of the sea and those 
“who so down in ships” been written by one more familiar with the scenes 
depicted. 

The one book of this gifted author which is best remembered, and which 
will be read with pleasure for many years to come, is “Captain Brand,” 
who, as the author states on his title page, was a “pirate of eminence in 
the West Indies.” As a sea story pure and simple, “Captain Brand” has 
never been excelled, and as a story of piratical life, told without the usual 
embellishments of blood and thunder, it has no equal. 


NICK OF THE WOODS. A story of the Early Settlers of Kentucky. By 
Robert Montgomery Bird. Cloth, izmo. with four illustrations by J. Watson 
Davis. Price, $1.00. 

This most popular novel and thrilling story of early frontier life in 
Iventucky was originally published in the year 1837 . The novel, long out of 
print, had in its day a phenomenal sale, for its realistic presentation of 
Indian and frontier life in the early days of settlement in the South, nar- 
rated in the tale with all the art of a practiced writer. A very charming 
love romance runs through the story. This new and tasteful edition of 
“Nick of the Woods” will be certain to make many new admirers for 
this enchanting story from Dr. Bird’s clever and versatile pen. 


GUY FAWKES. A Romance of the Gunpowder Treason. By Wm. Harri- 
son Ainsworth. Cloth, izmo. with four illustrations by George Cruikshank. 
Price, $1.00. 

The “Gunpowder Plot” was a modest attempt to blow up Parliament, 
the King and his Counsellors. .Tames of Scotland, then King of England, 
was weak-minded and extravagant. He hit upon the efficient scheme of 
extorting money from the people by imposing taxes on the Catholics. In 
their natural resentment to this extortion, a handful of bold spirits con- 
cluded to overthrow the government. Finally the plotters were arrested, 
and the King put to torture Guy Fawkes and the other prisoners with 
royal vigor. A very intense love story runs through the entire romance. 


BURT’S S£RI£S of STANI>ARI> FICTION. 


TICONDEROGA : A Story of Early Frontier Eife in the Mohawk Valley. 
By G. P. R. James. Cloth, i2mo. with four page illustrations by J. Watson 
Davis. Price, |i. 00. 

The setting of the story is decidedly more picturesque than any ever 
evolved by Cooper: The frontier of New York State, where dwelt an English 
gentleman, driven from his native home by grief over the loss of his wife, 
with a son and daughter. Thither, brought by the exigencies of war, comes 
an English officer, who is readily recognized as that Lord Howe who met his 
death at Ticonderoga. As a most natural sequence, even amid the hostile 
demonstrations of both French and Indians, Lord Howe and the young girl 
find time to make most deliciously sweet love, and the son of the recluse has 
already lost his heart to the daughter of a great sachem, a dusky maiden 
whose warrior-father has surrounded her with all the comforts of a civilized 
life. 

The character of Captain Brooks, who voluntarily decides to sacrifice his 
own life in order to save the son of the Englishman, is not among the least 
of the attractions of this story, which holds the attention of the reader even 
to the last page. The tribal laws and folk lore of the different tribes of 
Indians known as the “Five Nations,” with which the story is interspersed, 
shows that the author gave no small amount of study to the work in question, 
and nowhere else is it shown more plainly than by the skilful manner in 
which he has interwoven with his plot the “blood” law, which demands a 
life for a life, whether it be that of the murderer or one of his race. 

A more charming story of mingled love and adventure has never been 
written than “Ticonderoga.” 


ROB OF THE BOWL: A Story of the Early Days of Maryland. By John 
P. Kennedy. Cloth, i2mo. with four page illustrations by J. Watson Davis. 
Price, $1.00. 

It was while he was a member of Congress from Maryland that the 
noted statesman wrote this story regarding the early history of his native 
State, and while some critics are inclined to consider “Horse Shoe Robinson” 
as the best of his works, it is certain that “Rob of the Bowl” stands at the 
head of the list as a literary production and an authentic exposition of the 
manners and customs during Lord Baltimore’s rule. The greater portion of 
the action takes place in St. Mary’s — the original capital of the State. 

As a series of pictures of early colonial life in Maryland, “Rob of the 
Bowl” has no equal, and the book, having been written by one who had 
exceptional facilities for gathering material concerning the individual mem- 
bers of the settlements in and about St. Mary’s, is a most valuable addition 
to the history of the State. 

The story is full of splendid action, with a charming love story, and a 
plot that never loosens the grip of its interest to its last page. 


BY BERWEN BANKS. By Allen Raine. 

It is a tender and beautiful romance of the idyllic. A charming picture 
of life in a Welsh seaside village. It is something of a prose-poem true 
tender and graceful. ’ ’ 


IN DEFIANCE OF THE KING. A romance of the American Revolution. 
By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss. Cloth, i2mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson 
Davis. Price, $ 1 . 00 . 


Tne story opens in the month of April, 1775 , with the provincial troops 
huipung to the defense of Lexington and Concord. Mr. Hotchkiss has etched 
m burning words a story of Yankee bravery and true love that thrills from 
beginning to end with the spirit of the Revolution. The heart beats quickly 
and we feel ourselves taking a part in the exciting scenes described. You 
lay the book aside with tlm feeling that you have seen a gloriously true 
picture of the Revolution. His whole story is so absorbing that vou will sJ'- 
up far into the night to finish it. As a love romance it is charming. 






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